Church Shopping

Today we went back to the Episcopalian Church. There's something comforting and safe about it. I love the high, vaulted ceilings, and the long aisle. I imagine many people can't relate to the high-church liturgy, but there is something that arouses awe in me in the dance of liturgy; the hand motions, the gestures, the raising of the Bible over the acolytes head, the kissing of the Gospel page upon reading. The tone of the bell echoed through the dark wood and stone sanctuary after the words of Jesus at the Last Supper were remembered out loud.

I had to smile at the layperson who read the Epistle lesson while balancing a toddler on her hip, or the woman who sat next to be wearing a wide-rimmed hat with black feathers that was a stark contrast to her snow-white hair. She was... elegant. In front of me sat a long-haired man with a bald spot, wearing a worn-out Harley Davidson T-shirt and jeans, escorting his elderly mother. He knelt in reverence during the prayers and bent his knee upon entering the pew. There is holiness in all of us.
I watched the young kids come back from receiving communion, some of them sucking the wine out of the wafer, others slipping the styrofoam-tasting wafer into their jeans pocket. There was a small child chewing and chewing, trying to get it down, wincing, I imagine, at the sour taste of the wine.

But most of all I loved the music. Pipe organ music that reverberates throughtout the atmosphere. It reminded me of my childhood, where our church had a German-made organ built by the very designers. They lived in the church basement for 3 months building that organ into our balcony. I remember as a little kid hearing that music as it shook the floor beneath my feet, and vibrated in my chest. Other times I got to be in the balcony and see our organist wrestle with the musical beast, using both hands and both feet to orchestrate the music within the many pipes.

There is something of a mystic in me, perhaps it's the poet in me as well. I love mystery and magic. I love reverence and holy, standing before what is bigger than me. It reminds me of when I got to be in the new Coventry Cathedral in England and standing before the massive tapestry of Jesus on his throne with the cherubim and seraphim at his head and feet. "In the year that King Uzziah died,..."

It's nothing short of a miracle that my heart can be stirred in church. My heart is still crushed. Broken. Tentative to approach. But in the sounds, smells, touches and tastes of the holy today I was comforted and reminded by the prophet Zephaniah, "I will bring you home."

It is Advent. There is hope. Anticipation. Expectation. And lots of surprises.