Wonderful Words Of Life Poem by Frank Avon

It was the same every Sunday:
two or three hymns (I can't remember
for sure) , scripture reading
and a prayer, another hymn,
communion, a closing hymn and prayer.

It was the same every Sunday:
I was nine or ten, the only kid
my age. I was thirteen or fourteen,
one of the four (Jimmy, Thurman,
Bobby and me) on the back row.

It was the same every Sunday:
swimming nekkid in Richland Creek,
walking all those hills and woods,
playing touch football, taking in
a movie at the Dixie Theater.

It was the same every Sunday:
'The Old Rugged Cross, ' 'I come
to the garden alone..., '
'Softly and Tenderly, ' 'Standing
on the Promises, ' 'Abide with Me.'

It was the same every Sunday:
dinner with Miss Johnnie, Jimmy's
mamma, or Miss Velma, Thurman's
or Miss Ocia, mine - fried chicken,
or country ham, or casseroles.

It was the same every Sunday:
'Sing them over again to me,
Wonderful words of li-i-ife,
Let me more of their beauty see,
Wonderful words of Life.'

It was the same every Sunday:
changing clothes in an upstairs room;
talking about Vanderbilt football;
telling dirty stories: talking about
girls, girls, girls; talking big talk.

Jimmy, a senior in high school, would
get married, give up his football scholarship.
Bobby would elope and have his marriage annulled.
Thurman would marry the class valedictorian.
And I - I - would go on to a wonderful life.

But it has never been the same since:
the country store now stands in shambles,
the one-room school is long since gone,
the New Hope church is somebody's domicile,
though the Wonderful Words of Life live on.

'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they
do. This day thou wilt be with me in paradise.
Behold thy son: behold thy mother. My God, my God,
why has Thou forsaken me? I thirst. It is finished.
Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.'

It was the same every Sunday:
It will never be the same again.
This Sunday evening, the band will play:
an electric guitar, the drums, the piano;
the singers will lead us. We will share

our needs for prayer - all of us. Kathy
will lead us; her message will be uplifting.
And, then, once again, it will be the same
as always: 'This is My Body, this is My Blood.
This do in remembrance of Me.' All the same.

It was the same every Sunday:
we wore our Sunday suits and shined our shoes;
we put a dime (me) or a dollar (Jimmy)
in the collection plate. Deacons passed
the bread and wine. It will never be the same.

It will forever be the same.
One in the Spirit; one in the Word,
the Wonderful, Wonderful
Word, our

Life.