I didn’t get to church on Sunday (see the previous post) for a variety of reasons. I’m happy enough to just have survived Sunday: a pre-work meeting; a few hours of fighting with a database; a first-time rehearsal with a group of musicians; moving in the late, late hours of the night to my new apartment in the East Village.
So: no church.
But I missed it, after spending good time with liturgy and scripture the previous Sunday.
This morning – Tuesday – I hauled myself out of bed at 7, just as the construction crews set to work with drills and hammers on the building next door. In and out of the shower and then down five flights of stairs to fetch my bike, and then a brisk 6km ride uptown to the big stone church that I used to always frequent on visits to New York City.
I’ll save my thoughts for another time and place regarding Profile Churches – you know the ones I mean: churches that have names and reputations as big as their vaulted roofs. Suffice to say: this was a Profile Church. I’ve determined, in the past, that I like their weekday services but can’t handle the Sunday morning crowd of big hats, pressed suits, and flashy handbags.
Early Tuesday morning prayer was exactly what I needed today. There was something consoling about the robotic voice uttering the liturgy. And something vaguely hilarious about the four minute sermon-on-crack: “what Ahab did to Naboth wasn’t right, but if God can find something good in Ahab, he can surely find something good in me”.
Yes. Alright. Here’s to looking on the bright side.
And then I biked home, dodging errant taxis and brainless pedestrians. I made coffee and toast-with-peanutbutter, and I feel like everything in the world might just be fine.
*with apologies to the real Wine Before Breakfast folk