On Being Late

I walked in late to church this morning.

I really hate being late. I get a little panicky when I'm late.

But we were late.

It was a really bad Sunday to be late.

Today was the Christmas Cantata.

It was more crowded in the Sanctuary today than it was on Easter.

And we were late.

The kindly older man who was ushering today helped us find four seats together.

There was only one place left for us.

The front pew of the Sanctuary.

Of course to get there we had to walk in front of the video camera that was recording this Cantata. And in front of about half the church.

I hate being late.

We were doing our best to very quietly sit down.

Didn't happen. We were coughing and sneezing and snuffling, dropping our bulletins, making general nuisances of ourselves.

We can't do anything quietly.

It's not a huge Sanctuary, beautiful, but not big. The riser for the alter is probably only 10 feet from the front pew. In that small, 10 foot area was our music director. And he had to be in a place where he could be seen by all the singing and instrument playing folks.

That put him backed up against the front pew.

Ok. I can handle this.

Knowing that anyone else in the family would accidentally kick the poor man, I went in first.

I slid in, as unobtrusively as possible and then knocked straight into the man. He just looked back at me and smiled.

From my prime seat behind the director, I couldn't see very much. I saw a few altos, and some tenors. I could the young woman playing the cello and a violinist. The French horn, trumpet, and trombone were also in view. But mostly the tails of the director. (He was wearing a formal suit with tails.)

I looked down the pew to see what other unfortunate souls got stuck up in front, and there were the smiling faces of my pastor and the associate minister.

They didn't mind that we were late.

They were just happy to see us.

We had walked in after the announcements and greetings and the other things that happen at the beginning of church, and the program had already started. I missed most of that first song. But every note of every song after that was magical to me.

It's not a big choir, not the most talented. What they did with the music this morning was overwhelming. And I'm sure my expression showed that!

(When we were leaving, the preacher grabbed my hand and wispered in my ear. He told me that he didn't know which he enjoyed more, watching the choir or watching me. He said my face was glowing with the presence of the Lord.)

I felt like a child, being given the most precious gift!

It was the gift of music!

I was awed!

I was truly connected with the Spirit!

I was brought to tears by the beauty of my church.

I still hate being late, but today being late was not the end of the world.

Because, just maybe, God doesn't care if I'm late walking into his house.

He cares that I'm there and that I am moved by his Spirit.