This morning I looked for God. Since I don't have a church in Boston, I've been eager to find a new church just about anywhere. The Internet told me there was a church just five minutes away.
It was...
Well, the mean age must have been 57. And it was that low only because there were a few teenagers and grade school kids skewing the sample. Still, it was a full congregation and I was hopeful. But then we started singing praise songs and I was no longer hopeful. I am not a praise song singer. I am a hymnal-toting worshipper. I am Maggie Smith from Sister Act. I am, in a word, Princetonian.
Still, all was not lost. Announcement Time was terrific; this was a tight-knit community. When congregants wanted to make announcements, the Pastor called on them by name. When the Youth Group leader made his announcement, he singled out a lady who "hooks us up with candy every week" to thank her in front of everyone. That's community.
And the Sermon wasn't shabby, either. They called it the "Message" rather than the "Sermon", but by this point, the SoCal aesthetic (Flip-flops? In church?!) had already told me not to split hairs. The topic was patience, a particularly timely topic given my late-twenties rush to get life started yesterday. More importantly, the preacher avoided a pat, simplistic sermon and delivered an intelligent message. Patience is not passive submission, but persistence, and when necessary, active indignation. I was impressed.
But then we sang some more praise songs.
1 comment:
When I realized there would be a praise band at my ordination, I cried through the ENTIRE REHEARSAL. In front of my bishop. Big, sobby, weepy tears that required an entire box of Kleenex, provided to be a by a very concerned friend. :) It was very, very mature of me.
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