Olivia Newport church bellSix years and it’s over.

Six years ago a church in my neighborhood began holding a worship service on Saturday evening. I knew it was a traditional church steeped in liturgy, and the Saturday gathering would be identical to two Sunday morning services.

I decided I could use a regular dose of tradition. It was a piece missing from my spiritual journey at the time. The quarter-mile slope from my home to the church drew me in body and spirit, and the walk was a small investment for the reward I got. I always came out with ample energy to climb the hill toward home.

Hymns I loved. Artistry of language. Theology of hope. Yearning chants. Prayers of the people. Sharing of the peace. Silence without fear. Holy connections at the table of the Lord.

I was hooked.

For six years this weekly experience molded me, encouraged me, reminded me, challenged me, redirected me. Fed me. Met me. Revived me.

We were never a big crowd and that was never the point. We were people of faithful habit and began to know whose faces we would see, whose eyes we would meet, whose hearts we would join at the table.

The church recently decided to discontinue the Saturday service. While I fully understand the reasons, I expect I will flounder on Saturday evenings for a while. And I’ll feel something missing from my spirituality for more than a while

The service was always a holy solace for me—at the end of a busy Saturday, and on the brink of a Sunday morning of service in my home church. I look forward to the season God has for me now with faith that God will continue to meet me in astounding ways.





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  1. Heather Kopp at SoberBoots.com on the October 16, 2012 remarked #

    What a lovely piece, Olivia. It made me want to go to that church with you on a Saturday night. I love the way you write. Blessings on you today, dear friend.

  2. Lyn Churchyard on the October 22, 2012 remarked #

    I felt a deep longing to go with you too. What a pity they ended the service.

  3. Sue Harrison on the October 27, 2012 remarked #

    My daughter often attends a Saturday service and a Sunday service. Our church has only a Sunday service… I find that sometimes my best worship times are when I’m walking outside. I’ve also begun the practice of praising God during my drive to visit my mom at a nursing home. She’s basically lost control of the muscles of her body, although you can still see her lovely spirit through her loving eyes. The praise time buoys me up in my sorrow.

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