Sunday, Sweet Sunday

Sunday, sweet Sunday, with community all ‘round.

Real people sitting on wooden pews, facing one another, listening together to Pacific Boy’s Choir and the real magic of their actual voices - nothing virtual.

I weep with JOY.

Such beautiful sentiments, such gorgeous tones. Scents of pine and candle wax.

I weep with the stunning beauty of the moment.

I weep with the realization that all are here for upgrading our expectations of the human race.

Later, in the family room, where the Holy Trinity of Coffee, Cookies, and Conversation are served up, I person a table where folks may sign up to attend family life classes… from nine choices: digging for roots (not gardening, but genealogy), and clay play, to yoga (which I'll be teaching four Saturdays) and Oakland A’s Day. As point person to answer questions folks may have, I get to meet a whole bunch of fellow Sunday Congregants and replay the events of the night before when we celebrated Twelfth Night (a few days late) with a Yule Feast… when we all dressed in Medieval garb.

We come to a community church to shine a light on one another’s best aspects, and to bask in the multiplied light.

Do I want to BE a Presbyterian? Not really. I’m not a brand-name kind of gal. I prefer to shop at Goodwill for clothing which has had its labels already cut out. I prefer my own version of connecting with something bigger than I am. Yet, here I am weeping on a Sunday because something about this community feeds an empty part of me that wants nourishing. Is it perfect? Naaaw. Is it essential? Nope, but pleasant and supportive, and pushes an essential re-set button at the end of the week.

Keep comin’ back, it works if you work it. Hmmmm... has a familiar ring.