Every so often, I randomly get the feeling that I need to go to church—usually in the midst of some sort turmoil. Yesterday morning was such a time. There is a Lutheran church a few blocks from my house. I decided it was finally time to investigate.
The service is held at 10 a.m. I arrived around 9:57, worried that I would be late. I walked into the Church to find about 10 people scattered about a sanctuary that was about the size of the old, old Roseville Lutheran sanctuary (not a large space). I found an empty pew (not a difficult task) and sat down. It was about 10:05 or 10:10 when they decided it was time to start. They could not, however, because “Angie” the organist was not present. She was in the Fellowship Hall(way) finishing her coffee. She walked in, followed by the choir, 3 women in their seventies in robes (think Marys and Marthas).
As is always the case, the service and litany were strangely relevant to my present condition (which I don’t feel like explaining in this particular forum). Suffice to say that the pastor invoked God’s grace to heal “broken relationships.” I believe I have explained this in a previous post, but even in the absence of “faith,” the Church continues to be home, a source of unending comfort and support.
As I looked around the largely-empty sanctuary, the smirk faded from my face. The vast majority of the congregants were elderly. We sang familiar hymns. Even at points during the litany, when I thought I had forgotten the words, the words somehow kept coming, emerging from being buried deep in my subconscience. I began to think about what happens when the older generation passes away, when that congregation goes from 30 to 15 to 5. There are new mission churches popping up, but the high church, the old ways are dying. I ask myself who will sing the hymns my ancestors sang. Contemporary Christian worship has attracted an immense number of adherents, but for me it simply does not resonate. I need old German, Swedish, and Norwegian hymns to let me know that I am in a sacred space. For some, the repitition of the standard litany is devoid of fervor, but for me it is a familiar balm for wounds new and old.
I dread the day that the prayers and hymns of the Lutheran Church begin to collect dust and become relics. I am resolving to attend that Church for the duration of my time in Baltimore, however short or extended that may be. We have to remember and protect who we are. We need to preserve those things that were precious to our loved ones who have past on. This is my tribe, these my people. I shall hold their ways in my heart.
