A time when you make sure you don’t paint the Easter eggs yellow, for fear that they'll get lost among the dandelions that have come up early this year.
We’re on a farm near the Mississippi River, visiting my wife’s parents. And although we’re literally off of Highway 61 (revisited), it’s a distance to any port of civilization and at least an hour from the nearest Starbucks.
I get comfort from attending service where the same prayers have been read for centuries, but the church I’m visiting today on this Easter Sunday is more contemporary. They sing contemporary Christian songs and tailor their service to run like a concert. The words to the songs are projected on to a screen so that we may sing along. But if you don’t have the sheet music to go with it, you’re hosed. And since I’m not versed in contemporary Christian music, I observe and stay silent.
Not that I’m familiar with many traditional Christian songs either, but my wife knows them and I like hearing her sing. The only one that’s familiar to me today is the two they always seem to perform when we visit here: “Lord I Lift Your Name On High” and another one called “My Redeemer Lives.”
I long for the old “O Lamb Of God” verse we have at my Episcopal church. First the leader. Then the choir. Then the congregation.
Then the recommendation that I left in last week’s offering plate.
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