Church

I was organizing my computer files yesterday and came across this description of a church service back in Nice. It clarified for me why it will take me a good long while to feel at home in our church here. 

Here it is:

Scott and I were in charge of the Sunday service today, which means everything but the sermon and a scheduled baby dedication--order of service, Scripture reading, songs, prayer, and announcements.

We decided that Scott would read Hebrews 1:1-4 as a meditation. I chose music and scheduled a time to meet with the worship team, 5pm on Saturday evening. We got started at twenty till six, and our pastor joined us with his violin. I finished up the Powerpoint Saturday evening, and we talked through the service one last time.

At 10 pm our pastor called. He’s sick. So, Scott's doing the sermon and the Romanian baby dedication. In their tradition the woman doesn't leave the home until the baby has been dedicated. So leaving her in quarantine for another week until our pastor is healthy would have been harsh. Scott decided to preach on a passage in Mark.

Sunday morning--Scott gets there early to pray before the service with others. I arrive to set up music. A woman is seated near the front with two small dogs, which makes Anna very happy. She asks permission to sit with her; sounds ideal to me. The woman is friendly, and it's a great child care arrangement until twenty minutes into the service when the dogs decide to fight. Anna finds another place to sit.

A large group of family and friends have come out for the dedication--more than once their phones go off--one for about 15 seconds of a rousing Gypsy Kings-like song.

Besides the occasional outbursts form the dogs and cellphones, the service is running smoothly, until we were to transition directly from "Devant le Trone" to "Entre tes mains". Inexplicably, our only instrumentalist takes off his guitar and walks away--saying he'll be right back. Caught like a deer in the headlights, I lead an impromptu moment of prayer until he returns.

Baby dedication time--Scott reads through some comments that the pastor sent him and invites the father to speak briefly. The father does for about twenty minutes--most of what he says is good, though there are some not so orthodox thoughts. Scott is looking cheerful and encouraging, and I know is trying to figure out whether to interrupt or not. The dogs fight again.

The baby finally gets prayed for. We sing "Jesus Sois le Centre" and go to announcements. Suddenly, I the song suddenly starts playing again--one of our guests is checking that it recorded on his telephone. They then leave en masse.

Scott preaches his sermon.

We end with an upbeat "Je ne sais pourquoi dans sa grace"--I notice that Jeanne--who is probably about 80--is beaming as she sings. Her husband is fading away with Alzheimer’s; she loves the old songs.

The dogs peed a couple times in the annex while we had snacks after the service in honor of the baby dedication. 

Granted, most services in Nice were not that colorful, but plenty of them were. 

It makes life here seem a little monochromatic. We are all obedient about silencing our cell phones. No one would imagine sneaking a dog into the building. No one on the worship team ever just walks off in the middle of the service. And no one will ever call us at 10pm on a Saturday night asking Scott to do the sermon. And I do appreciate these things. They make for a more peaceful Sunday morning.

I just miss the unexpected sometimes. And think it would be totally fun to bring Pepper to church.