Monday Evening Quarterbacking

"So, LutheranChik...how did Sunday morning go?"

I'll tell ya. It went swell. More than swell.

Oh, we had a couple of startup glitches. Before the service started I asked the pastor, "Do we process up together, or is one of us in front of the other, or how does that work?" And it turns out we don't know. So we'll have to look that up. The Velcroed collar of my alb kept making alarming scriiiiiitch noises whenever I moved. I also almost forgot to bow to the altar at the end of the service, and we had some momentary confusion about who says, "Go in peace. Live the Gospel." And I chickened out of my plan to ad-lib the Prayers of the Church; wound up squinting at my notes in one hand while attempting unilateral worship choreography with the other.

And no matter how many times you've sat through a church service, how many times you've rehearsed that service in your head, how many times you've wanted to be front and center in the service -- there's always that moment when you're standing there, looking out at dozens of expectant faces, and your mind goes completely, flatline blank...even with the liturgy right in front of you.

Yes, I know; I can be pretty anal at times.

But here's the good stuff.

It never fails to both astound and humble me what a privilege it is to lead worship. How many times have I slouched into church on a Sunday morning, part of me not wanting to be there and part of me desperately longing for a word? Helping people find the words when they don't have any of their own. That thought stayed with me all morning; that is what I was doing. I tend to be rather soft-spoken; during the service I found myself speaking loudly, slowly, clearly. I also tried explaining things as I went along; after the sermon, when it came time to say the Creed, I pointed out that the first part of the service -- the assurance of forgiveness; the lessons; the sermon -- focused on God's "yes" to us, and that the Creed and the Sharing of the Peace were our "yes" to God and to one another. I had a vague idea that I was going to say that, and I can't quite remember how I did say that, exactly, but I did.

I also found myself doing things I don't normally do as a civilian in the pew. Sometimes worshippers, especially newbies, are a little shy; they don't know what to do; they don't know how to act. During the informal pre-service warmup sing-along I got a little more animated than I normally do, to let people know that was okay. And at the end of the prayers, when we invite people to pray for specific people or situations in their lives, aloud or silently, I said names aloud -- names of several people who are probably reading this post, as a matter of fact. Because, again, I wanted people to know it was okay to do that, if they wanted. It's harder for me to do that sitting in the pew with my mother; I'm not sure why, but it is, so I usually keep my prayers to myself. But not yesterday.

And I also felt a very profound sense of carrying other people with me to the front of the sanctuary -- people feeling disempowered, dismissed, despised by Churchianity. Yeah, I know; I'm doing my AM dog-and-pony show in a little congregation somewhere between a hayfield and a state forest; personal guerilla theater; big deal; no one cares: "Can anything good come out of Outer Podunk County?" Well -- if not here, where?

Today I got a very gracious e-mail from the pastor that basically told me I'm not going to be fired anytime soon. And they're ordering me an alb of my own.