It finally happened. One of the most famous worship sites in all the world finally opened its doors to a more public praising of God after a fire nearly destroyed its breath-taking beauty over five years before. Granted, Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, France, approaching 800 years of history after the original structure was mostly completed, has seen its fair share of renovations over the centuries. However, this was another level of initial collective shock and fear for the French and worldwide adorers, to a near Resurrection-like miracle for the majestic architectural work of art.
As we prepare for a service of Lessons & Carols this weekend, I cannot help but think back to one of my fondest memories of the one at my college alma-mater, about ten years after I last participated in it. When I was on campus, it was always one of those experiences that was not just “good” or “nice,” but truly spiritually nourishing. It was, of course, always done a certain way when I was there. It always started off with the choir in the back of the sanctuary, with a soloist leading the liturgy of the Service of Light (still being used from the good ‘ole green Lutheran Book of Worship at that time), as candles were lit in the pews. In between the lines of the music, there would be these interludes of what’s called a change-ring from the handbell choir: with the bells being passed in between ringers in a musical scale-like fashion. As the service went on, certain readers would read the lessons: among them, a child from the community would read the passage of “a little child shall lead them” from Isaiah 11, the president of the university would take care of one, and the finale from John 1 would always be read by the choir president.
So, come tomorrow, homes across America will be filled with countless traditions coming to life yet again: turkey carvings, football games, perhaps even the start of preparations for the next major holiday we’d rather not think about just yet. But at the start of many Americans’ Thanksgiving is watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (not necessarily mine, but minor detail). The route tends to be filled with massive floats, celebrities, as well as a fair share of high school bands.
For the longest time, down on the farm, our family kitchen had this old church pew for sitting around the table. For generations before, part of my dad’s side of the family had gone to this nearby Lutheran church. When it closed down (since the German immigrant farmers weren’t filling the countryside quite as much anymore), all the furnishings were made available for anyone to take. So, one of those pews was moved into our kitchen, just a few feet from the door that would lead to the garage, which was the most often used way of getting into the house.
I’m hoping not to become the parent whose excitement over their child making contact with a ball on top of a tee, can be heard throughout an entire sports complex and beyond. And yet, for some reason, there’s a bit of pride over a comparatively miniscule human act. If the timing works out just right on a weekday, our oldest will dart to the front window overlooking the porch area, as the mail man walks up the steps to drop off our random assortment of junk and billing notifications and other adulting nonsense. He insists on being there to wave to our postal carrier, quietly, but still confidently, saying, “Hiiiii!” with a bit of enthusiasm and joy and wonder and maybe even some love too (not to mention an understandable curiosity over the possibility that any of the material in our tattered mailbox is for him). Yes, we try to instill in our children a basic level of respect for other human beings, encouraging some form of “Hiiii!” and perhaps a wave for good measure, but this has a precious dose of personal initiative.
