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.

History

Our church will be celebrating its 120th birthday next year, and we have a small committee that has begun to meet and plan for the celebration.

Our first step is tracking down and going through archives. Some are at the church, some are at a couple's home, and others are at more centralized locations.

Our pastor pulled a couple very old books out of a cabinet in his office when we met Monday. The first was this one...

It contains a record of baptisms, starting in 1892. 

One of our committee members began looking through the book. She seems to know just about everyone, and found her parents' baptisms and her own. If I remember right, her mother was baptized  in 1922. Her mother's seventeen year old signature was next to the pastor's. 

Another book contained a roster of members. There were a couple of official looking papers certifying membership during World War II. We wondered if they had been done to help protect Jewish families. There aren't any during any other time period in the book.

For now, I am just trying to get the history straight in my head, starting with the pastors. I know very, very little and have lots of reading to do. As we go through archives, I'll be trying to think of engaging ways to present the church's rich history to our church and community. I have some ideas, but have never tackled anything this huge. 

I have always been fascinated by history, and I know that I'll enjoy the process of researching, especially as a pamphlet or a picture sparks a memory and I am privy to decades-old recollections. 

Comfort Zone...Where are you?

So, a friend at church mentioned months ago the idea of getting people together to prepare a worship/concert event.  A few people from various churches had started meeting together in August to plan and practice.  I came along in September to a practice to check it out and see if I could help--thinking that it would be low key and that I may join in on a couple songs.

Well, there were musicians and microphones and a very few singers.  Two sopranos, two altos (including me), and two guys.  The microphones totally freaked me out.  I am not a terribly outwardly emotive person in daily life, but I am extremely self-conscious singing in front of people.  Not to mention my past history of almost panic attacks.  I once had shooting pains down my left arm when speaking in front of a crowd.    That was over twenty years ago, but still...

It was immediately assumed that I was a permanent part of the group, and when it comes down to it, I do enjoy the work of putting this all together...working out harmonies, brainstorming arrangements, even the hours and hours of practices.   

Several of the group members are from our church, so we tried out some of the songs at our church retreat last weekend.  By the way, I haven't gained twenty pounds, just wearing a big shirt of Scott's to celebrate the newly fallen snow outside the retreat center.  Scott filmed us, and I am working on how not to look quite so awkward when singing at our concert.  I figure some rhythmic instrument in my hand is of immense help.  Now how to get over the deer in the head lights expression that my face falls into...

Fortunately, the concert is not until the 21st of November.  I'll do my part the best I can and just enjoy the process of working with an amazing team.

Church

I was at church this afternoon. Every Tuesday since November, our pastor's wife gets together with women in the neighborhood to knit, chat, and drink coffee. Most of the women are from north Africa.

I was invited to bring the kids and come along for a baking day (I would have had to refuse knitting). School is out for two weeks here--most everyone's least favorite school holiday of the year. It's not a good time of year for outside activities. 

Not too many ladies came--just two at the beginning.  Then a couple more.  Sometimes there are as many as ten.  A young French student came in who had set up to talk with Scott about the Christian faith, so he waited while we peeled and cored apples for the apple crumble.  Scott arrived with Anna, who worked on the topping for the apple crumble.

A French woman came in with her toddler son.  She had made an appointment to receive a parcel of food.  While she was waiting, she had coffee.

While she was waiting, another woman came in with a shy teenager.  I assumed this was her daughter, though she talked about her coming to get help.  It turns out that the girl is homeless and has been since being kicked out of the house a few years ago.  She's only nineteen.  She had coffee and oatmeal squares and apple crumble.  And they spent time with our pastor talking about next steps.

Somewhere in there Scott and the young student came back from their chat.  Both had apple crumble.  Did I mention there was creme anglaise on the side?  Scott headed home and the young student stayed and chatted until evening.

We cleaned up while the kids played.  A very down and out man barged in exclaiming that he was cold and needed coffee.  He had coffee with our pastor and the man in charge of the church's social services.  He came into the kitchen to give us his cup before going back out.