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Bush Hill Beauty By Douglas Sciorra

Wiser’s Wramblings-What is a Church?

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Pontificating on church, and gas prices

By Chuck Wiser, I write the words to share what my eyes see and my heart feels

Having been given the bittersweet honor of writing an announcement of a church’s last mass the other day I responded with a day earlier Wrambling to broaden the potential reading possibilities. That may sound pretentious, but despite having a respectable list of Facebook “Friends,” I thought a Wramblings article might give the announcement a wider exposure. Since I was planning on doing my standard Wrambling today as well I thought a “Double Exposure,” which might be bad for a camera picture, would be just right for getting this message out. I will not repeat the whole article but Norene Ferris, who honored me with the initial request, might be pleased with this repeat message.

The first mass to be held in the wooden structure on site was Nov. 19, 1882. The wooden structure was moved to the rear of the property to serve as a meeting hall and was replaced by a brick-and-mortar edifice as seen today, which was constructed in 1904. The final mass of St. Mary’s Catholic Church will be held Sunday, January 26th at 3:00 P.M. and the public is invited. A lunch, and gathering of worshippers and friends, will follow from 4 to 6.

Having done some research for yesterday’s writing, my thoughts of my earlier church experiences came to mind and before going to sleep last night, and upon awakening this morning my mind was filled with thoughts and questions of, not only our churches, but our past and current involvement.

Rest easy! Just as I avoid getting into deep political discussions herein, and don’t go on political rants, challenging as it is these days, I also generally avoid pontificating on religious issues. As a side note, upon double checking the correctness of the term pontificating, the second definition of it refers to the priests at a Catholic mass.

My youthful reflection on attending church in the 125-citizen hamlet of Nile, NY in the 50’s reminded me that there were two very active churches in that little burg and they were both well attended. One, The First Evangelical United Church (EUB) in Nile was the one that I attended. I actually did return to attendance at that church for a few months having met the Pastor as he had officiated my stepfather’s funeral in 1980 and my mother’s in 1983. That church still exists on Rte. 275 and is now known as the Nile Community Church-Followers of the Way. The second church, a Methodist church as I recall, was located in the heart of the hamlet across from the Nile Store. As a strange coincidence we purchased that second church and turned it into a residential dwelling. A few years later we purchased the Nile Store, moved across the street, and became the proprietors of the store.

I drifted “off topic” a little there in my reverie. One of the two churches has survived, but only one. Even as a little hamlet of 125 residents, Nile reflects exactly what is happening today. Churches are merging, combining and sharing services or closing all together.  It is sad, but reality. I now regularly attend services at the United Congregational Church in Wellsville, NY.

Initially my attendance was inspired by Dave Toot, who invited me to sing in their choir. I don’t think he knew what attracts me to doing something at the time, but I have always said ; “If you want me to come to something, let me sing, or write about it.” Shortly after joining the church choir I was amazed at the genre of music performed by the Praise Band. I immediately asked if I could join that. That church has become to me known, as a “never say no” organization. A further plus for me is allowing me to play an instrument, if you consider a harmonica an instrument, as many don’t. I can’t predict my journey to heaven but when we are performing our music I may be as close as I’ll ever get. I guess the song lyric “…almost heaven” is appropriate.

We have been notified that our pastor is leaving us soon to accept an opportunity for advancement and growth in another, more metropolitan, location. She will be sorely missed and in addition to the music, was one who inspired my attendance after watching a YouTube replay of one of her sermons. I may write a more complete article featuring her in the near future, if she will allow.

I will touch on a couple of typical Wrambling topics then end with a lengthy poem that describes my wandering feelings about churches, and what constitutes them. I apologize in advance if that writing seems naïve or irreverent.

  • Pedestrians are the subject of this first comment. Within the past week I have witnessed/encountered two pedestrians near misses. Driving down Main Street in Wellsville I came upon a guy who started to enter the crosswalk. I started to stop but then had to really stop, as I observed the two dogs that were leading him both on very long leashes. I almost didn’t see them. Again, people jumping out into traffic (with only slight exaggeration) from between parked cars, especially after having exited the Texas Hot.
  • Nice surprise yesterday as I stopped by my favorite fueling stop. Just the week prior to this the price of gas in Scio, NY was within a couple of pennies of the same as at the reservation in Cuba. Yesterday the Scio price was $3.15 as I noted before my trip to Olean, planning on getting gas there upon my return. On my way back from Olean I noticed that the gas gauge read low and the “mte” (miles to empty) indicator said 67 miles. With a “what if” subconscious thought, I turned down the back road (446) to see what the gas price was at “The Res.” When I saw that it was $2.92/gal I pulled in and filled up. I followed my usual route home from there and went around the south side of Cuba Lake. The ice cover was pretty complete, and signs of snowmobile utilization were apparent. I didn’t see any ice-fishing shacks set up, however.

Bear in mind that the poem that follows was written by me while I was still a teen. I was sitting on the front steps of that church/house conversion as I wrote this poem.

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