Chapter 24
Communion Concerto
God, I love going to a small town church. On Easter morning I sat in the pew next to an 80-something-year-old woman whom I had never met. She turned to me, smiled wide, and said, “My, but it must be a special day; just look at all of the people here!”
“Oh, dear,” I thought as I realized she smelled vaguely familiar, “someone saved up her pension money and bought a medical marijuana card.”
A nice Easter prayer began the service followed by announcements. One parishioner stood up proudly wearing a straw hat carefully adorned with silk flowers, plastic robin’s eggs, and biodegradable Easter basket grass.
“I just want to let everyone know,” she said, “that I left a box in the entryway full of hats I’ve decorated like this one for all to enjoy on this special day.”
Light applause filled the room as she sat down, obviously quite abashed by the extra attention this brought her way. She seemed a bit sad when there was no mad dash to the hat box lurking in the back of the church.
Hymns began with “Christ is Risen! Hallelujah!” which was sung with such incredible zeal by the woman standing directly behind me in an operatic voice that I wondered about the safety of the stained glass windows...and my own hearing.
And then came my absolute favorite part of every Easter service at our little church. All of the kids were invited up to the front of the church to show off their lovely holiday attire. The little girls curtsied and giggled and one little boy made a hanging gesture with his tie.
Prayer requests brought the usual small town appeals of folks in need of work, good weather this growing season, and relief for the people in the south who had endured one of the worst tornado seasons in the history of our country. They prayed for our politicians, that they may make better choices and, “keep us real people in mind when going about their political business.” They asked for healing for their neighbor’s cancer, guidance for a physician who would be performing surgery this week on “one of our own,” and safe travel for the college students who had returned home for spring break.
Prayer praises included the beautiful weather they had thought would never come back to Michigan, employment obtained for the father of three who had been out of work for longer than a year, and the family of souls that had been saved that week right here at this very church. They praised God for getting our pastor through another year, another knee replacement, two more cardiac stent surgeries, and “the cancer scare.”
Communion began with “Jesus Lives and so Shall I” playing softly on the piano. Shortly into the song, with the rest of the church quiet, the 80-something next to me broke into her own concerto as she sang along. Her adorable husband started singing with the second chorus and I wondered if he had a marijuana card of his own. Now that’s the kind of support I’m looking for in the man I share the rest of my life with.
I left thanking God for this lovely place to which I could come and laugh and observe and find peace. My soul was truly happy again, as is the case so many Sundays when I leave my little church.
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