The worship at All Saints is consistently inspiring: joyful, good music, engaged people.
And, sometimes, it is amazing. On Sunday, it was amazing. But even that doesn’t capture the morning. For what happened as we sang and baptized and remembered our dead was something way, way more than something we created together. I hesitate even to try to describe it, but I know God was present.
I know I left chronos (our chronological, daily time) and entered kairos (eternal, liminal, God time) as a reluctant three-year-old grew solemn, eyes-wide-in-wonder, as the rite of baptism began, as the choir beautifully sang “I Am Not My Own,” as a group spontaneously gathered during the offertory to write the names of their beloved departed on flags and taller folks stood on chairs and pews to add them to the the flags flying overhead, as children (so many—where did they all come from!?!) surrounded the font to watch the baptism and offer our newest member the light of Christ, as you came forward for Communion smiling with tears in your eyes (me, too).
Sunday was the best of All Saints, wasn’t it? I pray the joy, spirit. and faith of that day will strengthen and embolden and encourage us to keep doing the work God is giving us to do—sometimes hard, sometimes heartbreaking—here and in the world.