In an article about change in worship we noted that some people in our churches seem to want to return to the 1950s. One person responded to say she found absolutely nothing to like in the piece and said, “I’d love to live in the 1950s.”
Happy Days. Chevrolet convertibles with the huge fins. Malt shops and sock hops. Mayberry was America and America was Mayberry. Ike was in the White House. Elvis was in his ascendancy. And Andy Griffith was sheriff.
What’s not to like, right?
I smile at that.
No one loves the 1950s more than those who never lived them.
My wife said, “In the 1950s, every time a plane went overhead I thought it might be carrying an atomic bomb to drop on us.”
Such was the attitude of fear pervading this land.
In the early 1950s, I recall walking home from church with my grandmother after one of those meetings in which the preacher scared the living whatever out of us, and hearing the planes overhead–hey, Birmingham had lots of planes!–and I was thinking the same thing as my wife: “We’re goners.”
You want to return to that?