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I love summer in church.
I loved it since I was a child. Slumped in a pew by my mother. In
the summer, she was with us in the pew because the choir did not sing in the summer. No one was willing to wear "those hot choir robes." (Sound familiar?) The windows of the church were open in
the summer. During the sermon, I would strain toward them, hoping to catch a brush of a warm breezes or a whiff of fresh cut hay, toasting in the fields, floating in the window.
There was no Sunday School, but there was Bible School.
"Praise ye the Lord" sung to the sound of a plinking piano and buzzing fan. Legs peeling off sticky pews as we jumped up to shout "Hallelujah!" (The only time, I think, young Lutherans in my day were
EVER taught to jump up shouting "Hallelujah!"
These are more than fond memories. They are deep imprints and I
relish tracing them each year.
Typically, here in Woodstock, there's nothing special happening
in church during the summer. Our July calendar is nearly bare—except for my vacation. (Let's just get that out of the way
now—yes, one of the reasons I love summer is my vacation. But there's more to it than that!)
Some would criticize that. What?! No choir?! No Sunday School?
I disagree. Summer allows us to experience a different kind of worship—a simpler church. One that I find more meditative.
Or it allows us to try something different—like shouting "Hallelujah!"
These summer days after Pentecost are termed "Ordinary Time" by liturgical scholars. To me, the ordinary is most
extraordinary. The green color on the altar marks no feast, or particular season. But green is the color of life—and of growth.
Summer is a time for growing. A time for reading. Praying. Reflecting. Planning. Discussing. Dreaming.
What if….
Oh, when fall comes, I will long for the pattern change again. Crisp days and crisper schedules.
But for now, the season calls us to be still and to grow.
!
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