Small-Town Church

It's been a rough week with the deaths of two elderly relatives and last night's chauffeuring of a friend to ER. I went to bed at two, woke at six, and knew that it was futile to try to get back to sleep.

So I decided to go to a local church. A priest once told me that there were only two types of prayer--help me, help me, help me and thank you, thank you, thank you; this Sunday it was an occasion for both.

Five minutes late for the 8 A.M. service I thought I would sneak in. No luck.

Both members of the congregation rose to introduce themselves, as did the lady minister. That's what I get for going to a small-town church where strangers can't hide in the back.

The community garden, where you don't need to be a
church member to plant a patch of land.

At 8:15 a.m. the morning sun shone through the red-glass cross above the altar and created a halo around the minister's head. Ten minutes later, when I took the picture (right, top), the sun had moved and the moment had passed.

A young family arrived even later than I. The kids ran around the altar while the minister celebrated Holy Communion. The Episcopal Church has loosened the liturgy quite a bit over the decades, but this was the most relaxed that I had seen.

I chatted with the grey-haired parishioners after the service. They said that couples with children have started coming. Attendance is growing, unlike most Episcopal churches in Northern California.

I hope they have room for old-timers. The next time I'm in the area I'll stop by again.