Well. Not my style, really.

Sitting in bed early this Sunday morning, I was looking at the website for the local parish church (we’re visiting family this week).

They said their 9am was “a short, traditional service with a ten minute sermon and familiar hymns”.

Ooooooookay, that is MY kind of event. Short, traditional with hymns I’ve known since preschool and can howl at the top of my lungs in a gorgeous, thousand year old church?

I’m in.

Beloved thanked me for the invite and declined to participate, burrowing back into bed. We’re both feeling the jet lag still. I ran late but made it during the sermon.

Which was about forgiving those who’ve wronged you.

Mmmm. Not exactly my strong point. I can hold a grudge like peat moss holds dead bodies. A thousand years later, it’s still in perfect condition. Yes, I know this is a moral failing. Let he who is without sin and all that.

Anyway, that’s not something that resonates with me. Whatever, I’ll listen and smile. It’s supposed to be short.

Supposed to be…

Looking around, there are no pews. Instead they have stacking chairs. Not sure why that happened… burned for fuel during the war? Enables them to clear the church for raucous dance parties? Unclear.

God love the old duck who read the Prayers of the People. She got thoroughly confused. We prayed for the victims of the genocide in Valencia, Spain, and those killed in the flooding in Gaza.

Then, finally, a hymn.

What’s this now? Um… no idea what this is… and it’s one wacky tune.

I asked if there were any hymnals, as half the seats had Bibles but naught else.

Usher: Oh no, love, we put everything on the big overhead screen. We don’t need hymnals, do we?

Me: How do you know the tune?

Usher: well the organist place it dunn he? Anyway no one reeds mew-sick nowdays, do they?

Me: …

Usher: Y’know, yew got a noice voice. Yew should sing out a bit more, love.

For anyone who doesn’t know me personally, I may not do so well on harmony, but put me on melody and I can give Ethel Merman a run for her money. I can take the roof off a church when in full voice. Loud doesn’t begin to cover it.

Except, of course, when I don’t know the dang tune. And there’s no sheet music.

I choked back a remark about how the church was contributing to the illiteracy of the congregation and returned to my seat.

Never mind, the recessional should be good, it’s All Saints Sunday, and this is an Anglican Church, so will it be “For All the Saints” or “I Sing a Song of the Saints of God”? Gotta be one of the old chestnuts…

Of course, I don’t know in advance because there are no bulletins. Everything is projected on the JumboTron.

Said the final prayer, and the organist returned to his post.

I’m not sure if he was having an off day or if the music was… I don’t know. Um… sir? What IS this crap, anyway?

Well, at least I wasn’t the only person who couldn’t make heads or tails of the (I hate to call it a tune) … um… series of notes belching from the organ. The rest of the congregation (maybe 25 people?) also didn’t know what was going on.

On the other hand, it’s not like the “recessional” had a whole lot of challenge to it. “This is our God…. This is our God” sung on the same note requires the musical talent of an intoxicated hedgehog.

All in all, the church was beautiful, but the service didn’t live up to the hype. Never mind.