Stopping for Worship on a Cold Morning

On a recent wintry trip to Louisville to visit my mother and brother Mark, I went to church at an inner-city Presbyterian church (James Lees Memorial Presbyterian) , liberal and alive. The worship was sincere, if tentative in contrast to my home church. Not all who attend here are yet believers. The pastor limits jargon and preaches a gentle gospel that lifts high our Christ.

The service began with announcements, then a gentle, sweet Taize hymn during which all came to the front to light a candle, an offering of their presence establishing reverence and invoking the Holy Spirit. An original poem was read by one of the assembled friends, a man in his fifties with the look of solidity. The poem was thoughtful, sentimental, quiet, bringing images of an elderly aunt's love from the senility of a visit made to her assisted living memory unit. Since I was visiting my mother in just such a setting, I was deeply touched. A generous dose of silence was used to digest the poem. Then a hymn. Then today's message from the casually-sweatered and colorfully-stoled pastor, based on the healing of a leper. He focused on the societal healing needed then and now. The service was gentle. I think we occasionally sighed together in the peace of it. We were quiet and pleased to be there together. Prayers were given and received. We sang "There is a balm in Gilead" in soft voices. The service lasted two hours. No hurry. Joy.

I think the most dominant aspect of the service was a huge flannel felt board that had been stretched on the dais. It rose behind an Indian cross, a large bowl for baptism, a table for monthly communion, two short scaffolding-like candle holders for the people's candles, large, quality speakers and a piano. But the navy blue felt board backdrop was central. On it had been placed colorful felt scale renditions of the intersection, church and neighborhood where we sat. The represented intersection's cross was turned to the diagonal, which put the cross of the people's interaction in the center of our gaze. Each house and building and car and passerby was ornamented by a star, indicating the presence of the Spirit of Christ, referred to in the pastor's message as Christ consciousness in all. In the dark winter sky was the large ascended star of Bethlehem, which had been introduced to the tableau during Advent/Christmastide/Epiphany. The scene is a changing one. Every week's scripture/message/hymn brings detailed change to the composition. I imagine that the shepherd of this flock spends long days during the week in contemplation and rich interaction with the elements displayed here. Scissors and flannel pieces are constructed and placed just so. It all seemed on this day so tucked in and densely conceived.

The "priest"Jim, for that is how he interacts and teaches, is all about accessibility. To what end? He has drawn my brother from a lifetime of agnosticism punctuated by ongoing tolerant interactions with me on the teachings of Jesus, to a seat in the community of God. It is a miracle. I praise God for it. The church is alive, and liberal?, in Louisville.