For our entire time in Maine, Charlie and I celebrated the week before Easter in essentially the same way. On Wednesday we celebrated the last supper. Charlie believes that Wednesday is not the "lost" day in the Easter calendar but rather the night that Jesus celebrated the passover with his disciples, and that he was crucified on Thursday. Otherwise you do not have three days and three nights in the tomb.
This year we drove to a church we had previously visited once for their Wednesday night service. It's a long way from 'home' but we were fairly close by to visit someone in the hospital. We did not expect them to celebrate the Lord's supper that night since we know that Charlie's view is not shared by everyone, but we were looking forward to worshipping and praying with them. We arrived shortly before the time when Awana was supposed to start. There were only two other cars in the parking lot.
"Well," I said to Charlie, "it's vacation week this week, so maybe they've cancelled the children's programs."
The front door was propped open. We walked in, but no one appeared when we talked louder than usual. The door to the pastor's study was open, but he wasn't there. We walked around the entire church. No one was there.
"We need to see if there's a bulletin around," Charlie suggested.
We found one in the choir loft. Scribbled in the margin were the words, "No Wednesday evening service."
I sat down at the piano to play for a minute while Charlie took out his cell phone. In a minute or two he said, "I've found another church nearby. Let's go."
Off we went to the next church, arriving there in time for their scheduled service. The parking lot was completely empty. Evidently, they had cancelled their Wednesday evening service as well.
We had just passed a sign for another church. We thought we might be late, but since some churches are not always prompt, we decided to try that one. We drove the short distance down the road to that church and found another empty parking lot.
As we started toward home, we drove past church after church that had evidently cancelled their Wednesday night service. The sign out front indicated they had one, but not a single car was in the parking lot.
On Thursday morning, Charlie attended a pastor's fellowship near 'home'. Since we had missed being able to go to church on Wednesday night, I asked him to listen to see if any of the pastors mentioned that they were going to have a Thursday night service. No one did.
On Sunday morning, for the first time in thirteen years, I watched the sunrise spill pink ribbons across the sky from the guest room at my sister's house. Her church wasn't having a sunrise service. While I enjoyed the warmth of the bed that morning, I missed the gathering of believers at sunrise on Easter morning, celebrating the amazing news that Jesus was risen from the dead. My mind was full of special sunrise service memories. In Manila at the American cemetery, the teenagers ran down the hillside, dodging the tombstones, shouting, "He's alive!" In York, Maine, we stood shivering in our parkas while the scent of bacon cooking drifted from the kitchen of the Stageneck Inn. We sang our praises over the soft background of waves rolling in over the stony beach, and a few people emerged from their rooms overlooking the lawn onto their balconies to listen, holding cups of steaming coffee in their hands. Then there were the many sunrise services at our home church, immediately followed by a hearty breakfast in the fellowship hall. As I lay in my bed on Easter morning, I gave thanks to God for all the people who were gathering to worship at sunrise that morning, giving thanks for the power Jesus has over the grave.
The morning service was a glorious celebration, accompanied by a full choir and orchestra. I could almost imagine being in heaven as I was surrounded by such a crowd of worshippers. But there were no hugs and greetings after the service because we were complete strangers. There were no shouts of "Christ is risen" across the parking lot as someone shouted back, "He is risen indeed!" Missing was the intimacy of Easter breakfast with friends. Yet my heart was full of praise for the grand celebration of Jesus' resurrection.
Easter dinner is the one time of the year I really want to splurge on food. My sister and I agreed that lamb would be a good choice, even though it took me four grocery stores to find it. By the time we arrived home from church, the fragrance of the herbed lamb roast filled the condo. By the time we sat down at the dining room table which was suitably laid with my sister's fine china, the lamb was accompanied by mint sauce, steamed fresh asparagus, lemony couscous salad, wild rice pilaf, and sparkling grape juice, with chocolate cake and coffee for dessert. (I wish I had thought to take a picture.)
When I bit into the succelent lamb, I thought, "Poor lamb that gave its life blood for our dinner. Wondrous lamb that gave it's life blood for our sins. Reigning lamb that will receive us into glory!"
Different, yes, but definitely my favorite holiday of the year!
This year we drove to a church we had previously visited once for their Wednesday night service. It's a long way from 'home' but we were fairly close by to visit someone in the hospital. We did not expect them to celebrate the Lord's supper that night since we know that Charlie's view is not shared by everyone, but we were looking forward to worshipping and praying with them. We arrived shortly before the time when Awana was supposed to start. There were only two other cars in the parking lot.
"Well," I said to Charlie, "it's vacation week this week, so maybe they've cancelled the children's programs."
The front door was propped open. We walked in, but no one appeared when we talked louder than usual. The door to the pastor's study was open, but he wasn't there. We walked around the entire church. No one was there.
"We need to see if there's a bulletin around," Charlie suggested.
We found one in the choir loft. Scribbled in the margin were the words, "No Wednesday evening service."
I sat down at the piano to play for a minute while Charlie took out his cell phone. In a minute or two he said, "I've found another church nearby. Let's go."
Off we went to the next church, arriving there in time for their scheduled service. The parking lot was completely empty. Evidently, they had cancelled their Wednesday evening service as well.
We had just passed a sign for another church. We thought we might be late, but since some churches are not always prompt, we decided to try that one. We drove the short distance down the road to that church and found another empty parking lot.
As we started toward home, we drove past church after church that had evidently cancelled their Wednesday night service. The sign out front indicated they had one, but not a single car was in the parking lot.
On Thursday morning, Charlie attended a pastor's fellowship near 'home'. Since we had missed being able to go to church on Wednesday night, I asked him to listen to see if any of the pastors mentioned that they were going to have a Thursday night service. No one did.
On Sunday morning, for the first time in thirteen years, I watched the sunrise spill pink ribbons across the sky from the guest room at my sister's house. Her church wasn't having a sunrise service. While I enjoyed the warmth of the bed that morning, I missed the gathering of believers at sunrise on Easter morning, celebrating the amazing news that Jesus was risen from the dead. My mind was full of special sunrise service memories. In Manila at the American cemetery, the teenagers ran down the hillside, dodging the tombstones, shouting, "He's alive!" In York, Maine, we stood shivering in our parkas while the scent of bacon cooking drifted from the kitchen of the Stageneck Inn. We sang our praises over the soft background of waves rolling in over the stony beach, and a few people emerged from their rooms overlooking the lawn onto their balconies to listen, holding cups of steaming coffee in their hands. Then there were the many sunrise services at our home church, immediately followed by a hearty breakfast in the fellowship hall. As I lay in my bed on Easter morning, I gave thanks to God for all the people who were gathering to worship at sunrise that morning, giving thanks for the power Jesus has over the grave.The morning service was a glorious celebration, accompanied by a full choir and orchestra. I could almost imagine being in heaven as I was surrounded by such a crowd of worshippers. But there were no hugs and greetings after the service because we were complete strangers. There were no shouts of "Christ is risen" across the parking lot as someone shouted back, "He is risen indeed!" Missing was the intimacy of Easter breakfast with friends. Yet my heart was full of praise for the grand celebration of Jesus' resurrection.
Easter dinner is the one time of the year I really want to splurge on food. My sister and I agreed that lamb would be a good choice, even though it took me four grocery stores to find it. By the time we arrived home from church, the fragrance of the herbed lamb roast filled the condo. By the time we sat down at the dining room table which was suitably laid with my sister's fine china, the lamb was accompanied by mint sauce, steamed fresh asparagus, lemony couscous salad, wild rice pilaf, and sparkling grape juice, with chocolate cake and coffee for dessert. (I wish I had thought to take a picture.)
When I bit into the succelent lamb, I thought, "Poor lamb that gave its life blood for our dinner. Wondrous lamb that gave it's life blood for our sins. Reigning lamb that will receive us into glory!"
Different, yes, but definitely my favorite holiday of the year!
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