Pew 'taters

In the mid 1970’s, long before binge watching became a thing, the term “couch potato” surfaced as a popular term for what a person becomes after almost constant, mindless exposure to television from the sedating comfort of the couch.

Sedating? Comfort? It doesn’t take much of a stretch to see the same activity taking place on a Sunday morning among those I refer to as “pew taters.”

We sat in what they called a “pew.” (followed by laughter)

Street Level (Larry Norman, 1970, track one)

It’s my pew, and I will do in it what I please.

Mrs. Wylder, from The Baron’s Apprenticeship (George MacDonald, 1891, p. 63)

Here are a few things to watch for if you’re wondering about your own pew behavior:

If a crime scene investigator could determine your whereabouts on any given Sunday morning to within a space that measures the same as your backside . . . you just might be a pew tater.

If you know there’s an old (used) hanky tucked between the cushion and the back of your pew, and it will always be there when you need it . . . you just might be a pew tater.

If you use those new, modern hymnals as a footrest because the last good hymn was written at the turn of the century - the seventeenth century - you might be a pew tater.

If your pew is located in such a spot in the sanctuary that it allows you to cast glances toward the person the pastor’s sermon is clearly meant for - and if they’re paying attention . . . you just might be a pew tater.

If you consider suffering for Jesus as the time some visitor arrived at church before the prelude, and sat in your place -before you had the chance to sit in YOUR pew . . . and it upset you so much that at the end of the service you didn’t even say “I hope you’ll come visit us again.” . . . then you absolutely are a pew tater.