Sunday, May 5, 2013

Dearest God,

I watched as the orange ball slowly rose in the early morning sky, a steamy mist kissed the river, and the lemon yellow forsythia bush swayed gently in the breeze.   With profound gratitude I gave thanks in the daily spirit rhythm of the Maine landscape.  It was Sunday, a day to allow my soul to drink in the goodness of your life among your people.

Some time later I made my way to church remembering to give thanks along the drive.  As the choir director put her hands to the organ, the melody came rising up into the sanctuary, and the choir began to sing, I sensed we joined heaven's angels and saints.  Surely paradise is like this, I told myself.

I watched from the choir loft as people started arriving.  So happy were they to be there.  But I missed my sweet little couple that always arrives early and sits in the third pew just to listen to the choir rehearse.  Married for sixty two years they exhibit a kind of godly loyalty to you and one another.  I am blessed just to see them.  But when she walked in without him, our choir director told us Al had died just a few hours earlier.  A silence fell upon us as we each one grieved the loss of our friend.

Throughout the service I gazed upon the congregation, a two-year-old boy reverently touching the stained glass window, two women squeezing in to sit by the new widow, a happy couple moving as one toward the front to partake of the holy meal, and an elderly, bent-over widow throwing me a kiss acknowledging my return to the church.  As the choir stood to sing Christ Liveth in Me I realized what an honor it is to be with you in your house and to proclaim our faith in song.

On the drive home along the same route I took two hours earlier, I stared at all the springtime color and whispered my love to you.

Generous God,
thank you
for the privilege
of being
the church,
flawed, broken,
and imperfect,
yet, beautiful,
loving, and caring.
Thank you
for the glory
so present
when you
are near.
What joy,
what peace,
what utter delight!

Love, Andrea