Sunday’s Coming

I started my work for the Moravian Church back in 1987. That’s 5 years at Rolling Hills Moravian in Florida, 10 years at Home Moravian Church in Winston-Salem, and close to 5 years at Laurel Ridge. Those twenty years represent many wonderful things such as knowing lots of music by heart, experiencing the love of a community of faith, having a village to help raise my family, opportunities to do deeply meaningful work…like Mission Camps, and fun stuff like Daytrips with Debbie. I treasure the many opportunities that I and my children have enjoyed sharing heart and home with people from all over the world. Those years also produced their fair share of challenges. I am forever grateful to Lew Swaim, the first pastor I worked with, who helped me understand that church (and its’ people) is stranger than fiction. Lew was a great friend and wonderful pastor. He patiently taught me skills that enabled me to stick out the craziness and treasure the deeper gifts. Another aspect of 20 years of church work is the meaning of the term “weekend off”. HaHaHaHa….nuf said. Well, let me tell ya something. Weekends are great! People keep asking, “where are you going to go to church?” Nowhere, is what I think. I’m staying home, or going to the boat, or washing the dog, or nothing. But this past Sunday…just as I poured a hot cup of coffee and settled down with a book Steve said, “let’s go to St. Bart’s.” I like the name…sounds more like a dog than a church. Steve attended this small, friendly, Episcopal church in Pittsboro about 15 years ago. Hearing it described sounded like a hippie’s dream-come-true. Interpretive dance, lots of music, casual, animal friendly, artsy. We arrived late…I loved that since I could never be late when I worked in the church….just early! The pastor stopped in the middle of whatever he was saying to greet us, recognize Steve, and tell all who were gathered that he was glad to see us and especially glad that Steve was thoughtful enough to bring along someone who was better looking than him. You may think I’m an extrotrovert, but I secretly prefer fly-on-the-wall status! Anyway, it was a lovely service followed by coffee hour….very Prairie Home Companion-ish. Sometime in the shuffling of hymnals, prayer book, and bulletin I saw the words “First Sunday in Advent” A sudden sadness fell over me. I’ve never worn a watch so functioning without hourly time doesn’t seem all that strange to me, but counting a month in Sundays has been a way of life. How could I have missed the first Sunday in Advent? I’m not waiting until I’m 80 to start reality therapy. Every night while others count sheep, I count Sundays. I start with Oct. 14th. I know that was a Sunday because it’s the day after Kat and Adam’s wedding which was October 13th. I count forward trying to make it through 2007. Most nights I don’t make it…that’s a good thing. I like sleeping like a puppy. So you can see why I was astounded. Actually, I hadn’t missed it… I just can’t read small print. “First Sunday in Advent” was in large type followed by “next week’s readings are….” Hallelujah, it didn’t pass me by. Sunday’s Coming! Or better said, this Sunday’s coming and Steve and I will travel to Raleigh Moravian to hear a Moravian brass band, pass the peace with dear friends, and oh, yes…sing “Hosanna.” ‘Yippee! Tis the season!