The Church Ladies: Remembering the women who kept faith — and fellowship — alive

Our church recently celebrated All Saints’ Day, where we remembered members of the church family and other loved ones no longer with us. Candles were lit in their memory, and my mind took me back through the years to the women of the church who had an impact on me, setting examples of selfless giving.

My mind’s eye gave me snapshots of church ladies through the years doing church-lady things — bazaars, bake sales, funeral meals. Random pictures of ladies pausing in their labors. Finding one picture of United Methodist Women sitting as a group? No. Those ladies seldom sat, and never, that we know of, as a group. It was always, “Hey, Marceil (or Dee Dee or Helen), get over here for the group photo!”

Someone sick? Organize a meal train and make sure their family is fed until order is restored and Mom is back on her feet and in the kitchen again.

Get the prayer chain going — someone is suffering. Bombard them with prayers, get-well cards and good wishes.

The Brownie troop needs a leader? Helen to the rescue! If Helen is called to jury duty, no problem. This will be a learning experience and possible badge for the Scouts. “Oh, never mind, ma’am, you’re excused. We’re afraid we have no space for ten little potential voters at this time. But thank you. The bailiff will show you out.”

Fundraisers were a staple. Bazaars were popular for many years. For months, ladies wielding knitting and crochet needles turned out scarves and mittens and baby blankets. They created Christmas ornaments from thistles and jingle bells and ribbons. They put together a church cookbook. They stirred up big kettles of soup so shoppers could take a break and share their finds with their tablemates.

The cookie walk was a surefire moneymaker. Shoppers lined up before the doors were opened to get first dibs on the more unusual cookies they weren’t about to attempt to make at home.

Bake sales were held at least once a month. Depending on the season, there were always breads and pies hot from home ovens. And annually at Christmas, hardtack candy made in the church kitchen.

And where were these ladies when they weren’t toiling away in the kitchen? Some were in the choir and some were teaching Sunday school or chaperoning young teens in Youth Fellowship. Just let me say those women deserve a special seat upstairs. I remember my own Youth Fellowship days. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.

I must pay special attention to our organist, the only one we ever had. Roberta once told me that as a young girl she would walk to church to practice how to play the piano. Since she didn’t have a piano at home, she drew a keyboard on a piece of cardboard and took it home to practice. To her last day, she needed sheet music, even to play the Doxology that she played every single Sunday for at least 70 years. The organ was moved to storage when we lost Roberta and hasn’t been played since.

Come to think of it, the choir robes, still stashed in a closet, haven’t been worn since I can’t remember when. Half those same women who toiled over hot stoves and prayed for so many needs wore those robes. I see them in my mind’s eye today — Martha, Dene, Helen, Marceil, Pearl. Our mothers who paved the way so long ago.

Today, I’m ready to sit back and let the next generation take the reins. But where is the next generation? The organ gathers dust. The Sunday school and nursery rooms are silent. The choir robes pull at their wire hangers. The marble slab on the kitchen counter reminds the few of us who remember the days of candy making.

I like to think my little church is resting. Waiting.