Clergy Family Confidential

My sabbatical tour of local churches continued yesterday. I went solo since I couldn’t drag the boys out (see my previous post as to the reasons why — not pretty). But it was just as well since the service went pretty long and Ben and Zack have little tolerance for church as endurance sport. Of course neither do I unless it’s, say, Good Friday.

Last summer I took them to the cathedral in Baltimore for a service. Bryna slept in that day since she wanted me to experience sitting with the boys in church as a single parent. They did pretty well except Zack doesn’t suffer long, boring sermons very well. I presume none of us do but while we might read the bulletin, Zack comments. Loudly. So as this seminarian droned on and on from the pulpit, Zack waited for a dramatic pause and proclaimed, “Yeah, yeah, I get the point.” The truth was, he was right. And the preacher quickly wrapped it up.

The worst part of yesterday’s service for me wasn’t the sermon but the Lord’s Prayer. Evidently one of the congregation’s traditions is to hold hands while praying it. Ugh. So there I was holding hands with someone two rows ahead of me and someone else two rows back. I wasn’t sure if I felt more like a liturgical contortionist or a medieval prisoner stretched out on “the rack.” In either case it wasn’t the most prayerful posture. That little pious squeeze people sometimes give after holding hands in prayer didn’t help my frame of mind either. Just let go, please.