An Especially Good Sunday

Sometimes after church, Father Brian will sail by me and grin, "Good church today!". He doesn't mean that church isn't always "good". It's always meaningful, but some Sundays, people share deep emotion with us, the music is particularly wonderful, and you can tell that the congregation leaves somehow changed, somehow more uplifted than usual. It's palpable.

Sunday Oct 3rd was a "good church" day. Two babies in lacy white christening gowns and one giggly but very reverent 7-year-old were baptized. A couple celebrating their 70th wedding anniversary shared their profound love and admiration for one another. Another couple thanked the congregation for supporting them during the grief surrounding the tragic death of their son. Two teenagers stood at the lectern and presented the first of a regular series of teaching moments, in which our young people instruct us about the Episcopal faith. During Communion, the unearthly beautiful voice of a soprano soloist accompanied by a contemplative cello sent most of us into a state of instant meditation (even those of us who are pathetically inept meditators!). Downstairs in the church kitchen, another teenage class baked heart-shaped Communion wafers for next Sunday. Everywhere, in every face, was the visible reminder that we are part of a diverse and vibrant and glowing body of Christ.

Barely an hour after the post-church coffee and cake things were cleared away, another service was getting ready to begin. In honor of St. Francis, the Blessing of the Animals took place in our Nave. In processed the choir--singing All Creatures of Our God and King-- with our various dogs and cats. The church was filled with at least a hundred pets and their families: dogs of all shapes and sizes (including about 20 animal shelter dogs), cats cowering in carriers, two hermit crabs in a glass jar, and a remarkably calm guinea pig.

My dog Piper sat quietly at my feet in the sanctuary, gazing up at me in rapt loving attention as I sang (it occurs to me we don't often sing to our dogs!). Of course I started crying. I'm not what I'd term a drop-of-the-hat crier, but "good church" Sundays always make me cry. That's part of what makes them "good". You cry at baptisms, you cry when the music is wonderful, you cry in empathy or joy when people stand up and share deep emotion.

I've read that tears are the soul's way of speaking. I like that.

Father Brian says that tears mean God is at work in your heart at that moment. I like that too.

Being present on a "good church" Sunday is a gift I try to hang onto long after the day has passed.

Cheers,
Susan