There is so much to love about the beauty of Sundays, maybe it can’t always be seen at once. Although I missed what I missed (most of the music, the offering, a lot of the sermon, and my pew!!!), it was there anyway, beauty all around.
I saw it first when a bus friend reminded me that today is the traditional birthdate of St. John the Baptist, three months after the Annunciation. Then we spoke of his suffering and cruel death—the graphic nature of it—and this after he’d dedicated his adult years to pointing others to Jesus, his own relative. And because of John’s pointing—and ours too—there is no other story that is known by more people on earth.
I saw more beauty a little later as I watched a boy overcoming literal obstacles to scale multiple walls in that rock climbing gym. When we met this morning he suddenly didn’t want to go (do his favorite thing) because he doesn’t know me that well. Short story: he went, he saw, he conquered. And on the way back to meet his mom at the church, I told him a few stories, one about climbing, and we left things such that next time, if there is one, he will easily go, and it will be even more beautiful. Don’t tell him about this “beautiful” business, though, cuz some guys think that’s a weird word for a guy, apparently. I pity them.
I saw it when I looked across the room and saw my friend who’d had knee surgery, and when he saw me see him, I knew that he knew that the sight of him brought me joy and all of that see-sawing gave him joy too. Beautiful.
I saw it during the brunch, accompanied by some really great music, as a couple of people stepped into leadership and did well. Why do they always look at me though? I have no idea, but I smile and do something with my eyes to let them know that they are doing just fine and I nod my head during all of that and it seems to do the trick. And it was good.
I saw beauty too, in the stories of redemption and rescue in the midst of repeated failure and faithlessness that were shared by someone.
Oh well, I could go on about it, but you get the idea. Even though I missed a lot, there was a fair amount still. Maybe more than fair.
Here’s another flower . . .