Aunt Alice

            Do you ever need an infusion of faith? When I do, I remember what God has done—like what the Israelites did when they recalled the parting of the Red Sea or other amazing miracles God did for them. One of my Red Sea stories is about my aunt, and I want to tell you about her.

            My favorite aunt, Alice, worked in the family florist business, keeping the books and paying bills in her glass office at the hub of the enterprise. Having no children of her own, she was always interested in her nieces and nephews. When I’d return from college for vacations and see her for the first time, she’d fly out of her office and hug me as if I were the most important person in the world. I loved that about her and even more so as I grew older.

            

          She always wore decorative pins on her jackets, and I keep them on a pillow to enjoy in her memory. She taught me a few family sayings:  “You must be in a ‘brown study’” and “After you I’ll be first.”

            In spite of all I liked about my aunt, a cloud of sadness hung over me when I thought about her. For years she had cared for ill and aging parents while working at the nearby greenhouse. As a result, she was unable to attend church. In its place, she turned the radio dial, eventually joining The World Wide Church of God as her airwave congregation.

            Aunt Alice was absolutely convinced by the teaching of this cult organization. She even persuaded a niece to join as well. For decades afterwards parents, siblings, nieces and nephews prayed for her and talked with her about the errant teachings she embraced. Her response was always the same:  “You don’t understand.” As my aunt aged and then became ill, hope grew lean. When she finally slipped away from us, I believed I’d never see her again.

I dreaded going to Aunt Alice’s funeral. Those for God’s children can be hard enough, but the funerals of those who are not part of God’s family are tragic. And, this, to me, was a tragedy.

As my aunt’s pastor spoke, I grew increasingly upset.  I anticipated empty words and heresy, bits of twisted doctrine, like I’d heard about for years. Instead, everything sounded biblical. Satan is crafty and serves up his lies with truth, or he couldn’t deceive. Yet this sounded so scriptural! Was I drifting away from sound doctrine myself? At the end of the funeral my cousin, who had been close to our aunt and involved in the cult also, spoke. Her words about our aunt’s beliefs deepened my distress. What was going on—what had gone on?

To be continued . . .