Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

In 1942 Frank Loesser wrote an American Patriotic song, entitled, “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” The words described a chaplain serving on a ship during World War II, who put down his Bible and manned a gun to serve with the soldiers he was accompanying.

I would like to say that I knew that noble story all along, but I actually heard the title of my blog entry when The Dixie Chicks recorded, “Sin Wagon.” “Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition” was a line in that song. There isn’t a thing patriotic about “Sin Wagon,” except a lady puts on a red dress.

This morning I thought I had better research the line a little more before publicly humiliating myself…well, not too publicly, because I don’t have many readers...hehe!

Most people know that I have played piano since I was 6 years old. I can remember begging my mother to let me take lessons, which I did for 10 years before I begged her not to make me take lessons any longer. (My mother should have put her foot down and made me continue.) Anyway, I began playing the piano at church in the 4th grade and quickly became the substitute accompanist at my little, country, home church. Since then, I have been employed part-time by several different congregations and have had a variety of experiences in each tenure.

The piano is commonly placed in the front of the church and on a stage-like platform. There are several instances during the service when the pianist is the soloist. Many of these solo times are planned as part of the service for the purpose of meditation and personal reflection. Even for me as I play, it is an expression of worship and praise to the One who gave me the gift of music.

As a young, single accompanist, I am an easy target for those whose personal reflection may be easily distracted. Unfortunately, the pianist is one of the last people to leave the sanctuary at the end of service. Packing up my books and getting out is sometimes a chore, especially when there is a barricade between the bench and the door. By barricade, I mean a male who I’ve never seen before wants to take me and the girls to lunch. Of course, there are those times when I have received an e-mail from the pastor the next week telling me that a man has written him or called him and asked my marital status, my parenting arrangement or what I’m doing for the rest of my life. Oh, and one of my favorites…[strange guy walks up to me and says] ”I heard you are divorced. I want you to know that I know life must not be easy as a single mom, and you can call me and talk to me about it anytime.” At this point I’m running, because I think someone has set off a bomb.

There have also been scary times. Following is an excerpt from a letter I received, which caused me more concern than any wimpy attempt at asking me out:

“…I love how your hair frames your face like a beautiful picture. I love how you smell better than fresh cut flowers. I love watching you walk when you have on a longer skirt and how it shimmies back and forth across your pretty legs…” Yes, serial killers attend church, too.

I took it to the police. Evidently, one must have a physical, near death encounter in order to take out a restraining order. My father and I went to the pastor of the church. The pastor’s suggestion was I could have a 9mm in the piano bench. Something about sitting on a concealed weapon makes praising the Lord difficult for me…not that holding it in my hand and trying to play the bass line makes it any less difficult. I’d rather tap my toe to the beat than count to the sound of gunshots.

While the song of the noble chaplain putting down his Bible to fight presents an endearing message, I chose to take my family and get out of that war zone. There are other battles to choose.

As for those who stand across my enemy line, I’ll leave you there to sing, “I’ll Fly Away...on a Sin Wagon.”