Now, I'm a non-denominational guy (when I'm in the mood to be a good, orthodox Christian) and I've never been to a Lutheran church before today. And let me tell you, it was interesting on many levels. For one, the chapel (if you want to call it that) is very beautiful without hanging onto that pompous, Catholic-infused gargoyle and bannister aesthetic, while simultaneously maintaining an atmosphere of "classic churchy-ness." You know, the pews, the windows, the raised altar. All the church needed was a choir--which I am told they have at a service different from the 9:15 one I went to.
My first impression was strikingly colored by the presence of a sign language translator. While I have seen sign language translators at bigger churches (I'm talking thousands of attendees), I have never seen a sign language translator translate an entire sermon (plus notes) in a church where there were fewer than a hundred people in-house at the time. I spent a good portion of the sermon (more than I should have, all considering) watching the translator sign and move their hands back and forth.
Two interesting things I saw: first, the sign language translator had to translate biblical names by using a sign-letter system, spelling out the name in front of their mouth. That was fun to watch, as the translator rushed to catch up to the pastor who was giving the sermon.
Oh yeah, and the preacher was a woman this time. Very unorthodox, if you ask me. She wasn't the senior pastor (who I met and was very nice) but she did preach the first full-length sermon I've ever seen a woman preach. Depending on your stance; "good for them!;" "what is this heresy?!." You know the drill.
The second thing I noticed about the translator was that, every time the sermon paused, she quickly moved her hands back to a "home" position near her stomach. That is an attitude that only professional anything-ers seem to be capable of; "home" positions are a concept that is relevant to martial arts, instruments, and anything that requires precise movement.
The second thing that really threw me for a loop was the fact that they used real wine. Now, in most churches (if you're not a regular goer) the "wine" for communion is grape juice. At least at the more modern, cosmopolitan ones that I have attended. There were probably less than ten milliliters in the cup, but I still tasted the alcohol. Wierd. Maybe I've just been isolated from the more traditional churches that do this, but this to me was the biggest surprise about the whole affair.
It was cool today and the thermometer at the bank (you know, those bank thermometers by the roadside, I'm sure all of you have seen one) said 69. Nice. (This is a meme.)
But aside from the rather tasteless meme reference, the weather was good for a short walk across town to the church. I'll have a car before it gets to -40, but I hope it doesn't get too cold before then.
My days have been passing rather quickly as of late. I think this is just a response to getting older--my neurons are slowing down, I've heard--but I am scared by how fast my days slip through my fingers. I seem to go to bed just an experiential hour after getting home from work--it's really about eight hours. I know this effect, and have been expecting it--and have appreciated it while working--but when I just want my relaxation time to stretch on forever it reminds me that there is a time limit to everything.
See you tomorrow for day four. I wonder what will happen?
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