Memorial Service

      I visited the holy chaos of mealtime at Haywood Street Congregation on Holy Week Wednesday. The dining room was bustling and I felt out of place, not because I wasn't accepted, but I felt like I should be doing something. I'd eaten a late breakfast so I didn't want to eat. I stood in a corner visiting with other visitors from south of Charlotte who were there to learn how this holy chaos was done. Our spot out of the way was in front of a fireplace where a welcome flame danced. It was too cold outside to be the Wednesday before Easter. Eventually the other visitors moved on to tour the Clothes Closet and the Library. One of the workers brought some clean stainless steel tableware. I transferred the forks and knives and spoons to their proper place in a separator on the shelf behind me. I felt better, more a part, my first lesson in why this community is special. Everyone serves and everyone is served therefore everyone is a part of this community.

     The young woman minister who made announcements to the entire room came to me and welcomed me. She told me about Orientation and how glad she was I was there. She was believable. I want to learn to be believable. Then she found someone to take me upstairs to the sanctuary, but the woman got lost in her work and I decided to make my way upstairs by following the crowds who were gathering for the service.

     It was a special service. Jesus' death would be celebrated this week and one of the members of the congregation had died the week before so her life was being celebrated. I can't remember the words of the minister, Brian, when he came down the aisle. It was about the cross. I thought I wouldn't, couldn't forget them, but I have. It went something like you could live without the Cross, but if you did, you wouldn't fully live. Those words don't do his justice. Anyway, the service was full of offered prayers, memories, and gifts of the Jesus and the woman who had died. The sermon was not a sermon but the reading of Bible verses about the drama in the Garden of Gethesame, Pilate's court, and on Golgotha. I don't know how they did it, but Brian handed out pieces of copy paper with the verses on it to various people who volunteered around the room to read. Without missing a beat they began to read and came in at the right time and read it flawlessly. Oh, some people had trouble saying the words but they came in on-time. Having done play readings I would have said they had practiced for weeks, but I knew they simply read what was on the paper at the time they were supposed to even though they didn't know they were going to read until Brian handed them the papers, one of the miracles of the service.

     Shannon got up asked for the elements to be brought forward. A man with a broken arm, another man, and a little boy brought bread and grapejuice in a goblet forward. As Brian read the Communion service from the back of the room, Shannon offered the elements to the woman's family who became the servers. The woman and her family had only just gotten housing after being homeless for two years. She was not old and no one realized how sick she was. I'm sure being on the street for two years didn't help. A folk band played hymns I didn't recognize as the entire congregation took Communion. There were maybe 200 or 300 people there. We sang a song when everyone was served and we went home. I have been babbling about the experience of attending since then to anyone who would listen.

     What was different? The ministers were real. Darkness and death were part of the celebration. Dogs were in the service. The woman next to me was homeless and she offered me a cough drop when I got too hot in the middle of the service and started coughing. None of those things are different from what I have had at other churches(except maybe the dogs being present), but I felt at home in this congregation. That was what was different.