Gone is the snow hump down the middle lane of First Ave! Gone the icicle outside my window!
It's a Spokane heat wave.
I didn’t even need my puffy coat tonight on my way to the evening service at Holy Trinity. Night church is not a new thing for me. I grew up attending church Sunday morning and night, and youth group on Wednesday nights, as well as the twice-yearly revivals (which would usually involve church every night that week).
Now Night Church is a way to squeeze in some Advent fun if for some reason (say, brunch. Thanks, K!) I can't make it to venerable Morning Church.
By the way, I like the idea of a special “Night Church” song (sung to the tune of Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” or Liz Lemon’s “Night Cheese”).
And you’ll have to admit, dear reader, that I haven’t indulged in much church stuff. I know this is supposed to be a blog about thrifting. (AndiIn my last post, I rocked out with the photos. It appears I’ve lost my photo mojo. But I bought some cool handmade loot at Artfest last Friday on campus, especially a rad knit hat, and a bag from vintage fabric. Pics forthcoming.)
Anyway, the material is often a gateway to the spiritual.
Such as: the stars inside Holy Trinity’s sanctuary. They’re asymmetrical bundles of branches that look like they’ve been scribbled above the altar then strung with lights.
And a girl who couldn’t have been more than two or three years old, in pigtails and a fabulous pink velour sweatsuit. She really held it together through the service, and as a reward she helped the priest blow out the candles.
The priest and I talked about how the long nights make one think heavy thoughts and eat heavy food. There’s some psychological health in the liturgical year. I can’t muster up much jolly feeling right now, but Advent is mini-Lent. Jollity not required. The heavy thoughts are just fine as we approach the shortest day of the year, when light is at a premium.
Toward the end of the service the priest asked us to join hands as best we could with our neighbors as we recited the Lord’s Prayer. My right neighbor’s hand was rough, and it shook a little.
My left hand doesn’t always know what my right hand doeth, but at the end of the prayer I gave both neighbor hands a little squeeze before we righted ourselves again toward the altar.