The first thing I noticed on entering the church was that I could see my breath. Forty-four degrees might be downright balmy for the first Sunday in Lent, but we really expect it to be warmer than that inside the church. Did the Powers That Be decide that the entire congregation should give up heat for Lent? That's one way to mortify the flesh.
Competent men strode in and fiddled with circuits and switches; with hearty, he-man voices they said, "We'll have this fixed in no time." They didn't. Eventually someone decided to check the fuel supply. Empty. Talk about mortification.
So we made our own heat. The entire congregation huddled together to sing hymns on hard benches in a sunny corner of the social room. Coats stayed on and hot cocoa was served. The offering plate got left behind in the cold sanctuary, so a piece of harvest gold plasticware played understudy. The preacher propped his notes on top of an old television set, and in the end we all passed the communion elements to one another as if gathered for a casual meal. Which, I suppose, is how it ought to be.
We all agreed that it was a fun service, but that doesn't mean we want to do it that way every week. We like our cushioned pews, our offering plates, our flowers and our candles, but most of all we like our heat.
2 comments:
Guess it goes to show you that the setting is just that sometimes. That's a situation that's just begging for a short story...
What's really fun is the pagan practice of going out into Nature to do one's worship . . . good if you can incorporate a bonfire; rough if you're a hard-core skyclad (read: naked) worshipper.
Being neither of the above, I make do with a nice sweater and gloves and whatever the weather decides is appropriate "mood atmosphere" for an affirmation. =)
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