I visited the gym and the farmers' market in the morning before 11AM services, and planned a movie screening for afterward at a nearby cinema.
Epiphany celebrates the visit of the Magi from the East to worship the infant Jesus, after following his star -- the primary instance I can think of that allows a celestial body to hold sway in Christianity.
The church bells were playing Christmas carols ("Joy to the World," "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear"as I approached on foot, noticing a sign by the door that requested appropriate attire and no sleeping on the pews. An apparently homeless man stood on the front steps, and several more homeless men sat amongst the congregants inside, managing to stand out in an already apparently racially and economically diverse bunch.
I sat on a red, velvetty, padded pew, and failed to cross myself or make any sort of bowing or curtsying motion before sitting down. I always forget which branches of Christianity make such a display customary.
The cavernous space of the sanctuary included a deep, recessed area behind the altar that seemed almost caged. A metal latticework that remained decorated with the wreaths and greenery of Christmas divided the worship space from a recessed area wherein the organist and trumpeter took up residence, and which served as one of two areas for the choir to sing. Over the arch of the cage was a slogan painted in foot-high letters: Blessing and Honor, Glory and Power Be the Lord's Forever.
The side walls bore stained-glass windows, and brown support beams crossed the stained white dome of a ceiling, which was peeling paint and openly crumbling in places.
I saw two people, a man and a woman, scurry down the aisle past me, laughing, each clutching an ornate two-foot-high golden statue of a human figure, their white robes fluttering as they passed.
Soon enough, the service began, with congregants rising to sing "We Three Kings," as a processional entered the sanctuary from the rear, leading the choir throughout the space as we all together sang all five verses of the hymn. Near the front of the processional marched the white-robed man and woman, holding their statues aloft. A third white-robed figure held a third golden man high, along with other marchers who bore banners and candles, and one woman holding a golden book above her head.
The marching of a sacred text around the space (up the center aisle, down the right side, up the center, down the left side, and up the center again) reminded me of the Torah's circumambulation of the congregants in the synagogues I have visited, and I felt myself wishing for a tallis so I could touch its tassels to the Bible being toted around.
It wasn't the only moment that recalled a Jewish service to me. At one point the pastor performed a solo a cappella chant in stitled English that sounded for all the world like a Hebrew blessing to my ears. At communion time, we sang about Jesus as our Passover, in addition to the many times Jesus was invoked (as he always seems to be around Christmas time) as the King of Israel. There was even a public prayer interlude, the most moving moment of the service, which recalled the communal al-chet last fall during Yom Kippur. At the Church of the Epiphany, congregants were allowed and encouraged to lift up public, spoken prayers, signaling that they were finished with the words "Lord, in your mercy," to be followed by the congregants chanting: "Hear our prayer."
For my sister who's battling colon cancer, Lord in your mercy. Hear our prayer.
For president-elect Barack Obama, and the incoming administration, Lord in your mercy. Hear our prayer.
For our men and women in uniform, Lord in your mercy. Hear our prayer.
For the victims of torture worldwide and for all those involved, Lord in your mercy. Hear our prayer.
For the Israelis and the Palestinians, Lord in your mercy. Hear our prayer.
This last one seemed especially poignant. The first song of the morning had included the lyric: "They will call you, The City of the Lord, The Zion of the Holy One of Israel/Violence will no more be heard in your land, ruin or destruction within your borders."
The message of the pastor, however, was not so poignant. It seemed unfortunately similar to a budget meeting at the non-profit organization where I work. The Church of the Epiphany was apparently down 170K in contributions as of September, but finished the year a little better (but still behind), around 70K down.
The pastor pointed out that the building needs restoration and the church's programs need funding. He asked everyone to pray about the situation and to fast during the week ahead for guidance about what to do ("We Episcopalians aren't so good with the fasting, but I think that's what we're called to do."). The sermon was literally all about money this week, and the hard times non-profit organizations like churches find themselves in.
For what it's worth, the sermon was effective. I rarely toss in money when I'm visiting a new church, but I tossed in two shiny golden dollars that were in my pocket -- not a lot of money, but I was reminded of the widow woman in the New Testament whose two coins were praised by Jesus as a great gift. I did not, however, choose to participate in Communion, which at this church involved stepping into a side-room for the laying on of hands and anointing with oil following the wafer and the wine.
We finished the service singing "The First Noel," and then we were dismissed with an exhortation: "Let us go forth into the world, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit."
The pastor stood by the door on my way out, and invited me to the Epiphany feast, though I told him I could not stay. I was running late to catch the matinee of Milk.
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