Twice a year

I am a Christian. I go to church each Sunday. I volunteer time with my church. I am in the choir. Yada yada.

This morning, my family and I got to church a bit early. I knew the choir was going to have some extra songs, songs we don't sing all the time, so I wanted to have some time to look over the songs, mark the pages, etc. My husband was a Eucharistic minister (that means he assists the priest in distributing the communion to the congregation), so he had some things to do before church started as well. My youngest wanted to be there early because she knew there would be an Easter Egg hunt afterwards, so she was anxious as well. Her best friend was with us, also interested in the Easter Egg hunt. She attends with us at least twice a month.

As I got my music ready, I watched the regulars wander in, greeting each other, chatting and introducing their visiting family. Pretty much the same as every week, except there were more visiting family members than normal. The priests came in, and they greeted the members, checked on various things that needed to be done, etc. Again, pretty much the same as every week. Then it changed.

The strangers started to show up. First, just a few. Well, we occasionally have visitors, and we always try to make them feel welcome. Sometimes they become regulars. Then, there were more, and then more. Soon, there were strangers wanting to sit in the choir area. "Sure", I told them, "you can sit with the choir, but we will expect you to sing with us," I said with just a touch of a light laugh. "Oh, no we had better find somewhere else, we don't know any of the songs." Gee, I thought, that is why we have song books.

More and more strangers are coming in. They are dashing around, looking for 'seven seats together' or 'seats close to the window.' Well, we only have but so many windows, it is a small church. The priests begin. The first part comes where the congregation is suppose to repond to what the priest has said. The response is obviously only being said by the regulars. The others are silent. Maybe they wre just caught off guard, trying to find the right page. Sure, that's it. The next part comes up. It is a standard, the same in every church I have ever been in. Again, only the regulars and their families say anything. This is going to be a long day.

Next song comes up. Good, it is an oldie but goody, everyone knows this song. No one even needs the book for this one. I look out over the congregation. The regulars have books in their hands, the strangers are digging in their purses for mints, or are staring off into space or are messing around with their cell phones.

The readers read from the Bible, again, mostly readings that are really well known, nothing obscure. The priest starts his homily. Welcoming the newcomers as well as the family members of the regulars. And eventually, he gets to it, the Twice a Year Christians. The ones who only show up twice a year, and only to churches that have Easter Egg hunts for the kids. He doesn't chastize though. He says that if you are only going to come once a year, this is the best Sunday to come. He is right. Easter is the one day that sort of wraps up the whole Christian message in one big ball.

It is sad that those people don't have the memories from childhood of singing those songs so many times that if there aren't enough books, they could hand theirs to the "strangers" and sign the songs from memory. Sad that they can't respond to the priest from memory without digging through book. Sad that they aren't familiar enough with the start time that they can come in and find a seat with their family without having to ask someone to find them enough seats together.

Mass progresses. Readings, prayers, etc. The priests then offer Christ's peace to all of us and we offer it back. Then we turn to each other and "Pass the Peace", which means we shake hands with anyone near us and offer them Christ's peace. Sometimes we have a short conversation, ask about each other's health. The "strangers" look hesitant, but the regulars smile and greet them anyway and ask them how they are, tell them how happy we are that they have chosen our little church today.

Then the real test comes. Our church is somewhat unique. Okay, not just somewhat unique, but really unique. The only one like it in the US. Our church started as an experiment between the Catholic Diocese of Richmond and the Episcopal Diocese of Southern Virginia 30 years ago, to see whether it would be possible to have one church that served a congregation of both denominations. Not two separate congregations that shared a building. That is done in plenty of places. This is one congregation made up of people from two (well, more than two) different Christian denominations, and that is sanctioned by both dioceses.

We do everything together that deep conviction does not require that we do apart. Basically, the only thing we don't do together is share the Eucharist. We have two altars. We have two priests. When we get to the part of the Mass when it is time to consecrate the Eucharist, each priest goes to an altar, and they consecrate their own set of Eucharist (in unison speaking at the same time, nearly the same words, though some are different). Then, the Roman Catholics go to the Roman Catholic priest. The Episcopalians go to the Episcopalian priest. Because the Episcopalians, the Lutherans and the Methodists are in communion, if we anyone of those denominations, they can receive from the Episcopalian priest as well.

The priests stand and explain this process. All the Roman Catholics are to get up and gather on the side with the Catholic priest. All the other who are receiving are to get up and gather with the Episcopalian priest. The regulars are used to this. It is the same every week, but the strangers all suddenly look like deer caught in the headlights of a car - scared and motionless.

The choir starts the offetory song, as we reach the last verse, the regulars get us, and start to move to their side. The strangers mill around near their chairs. Some move a bit toward one or the other end of the room, but most just sort of wander around in a circle in the middle. It is going to be a big mess, again.

The consecration begins. Both priests doing their parts, the regulars responding at the appropriate times, the strangers shuffling their feet. The choir pipes in with the service music were it is needed. Then, the Eucharist begins. The regulars step up and demonstrate, some even guide some of the strangers. Some strangers just get in line and hope for the best. Eventually, everyone has gone through, except the choir (we are always last), we get to the refrain of the song (because the congregation can at least carry the refrain) and we quickly head to whichever priest is "ours". Then we return to finish up the song.

After Eucharist, the priests say a few more short prayers, make a few announcements (including information about the Egg hunt), and Mass is over. We sing the last song, and everyone bolts. I sit down in the choir area and watch the people leave. I wonder how many of those "Twice a years" will come back next week. Did we make them feel comfortable enough? Did they get anything from the homily? Did the readings touch a chord in them? Did the verses in the music reach their hearts? Did the candy in the plastic eggs at least sweeten their kids' hearts?

Who knows? Next week, Whit Sunday, traditionally has the lowest attendance of all weeks of the year, so I won't bother to even make a guess based on what I see next week. But, maybe the next week, one or two of those "strangers" will wander back in, and will find it easier to get a seat by that window. Maybe this time, they will go ahead and open the song book and sing part of the song with us, even if they don't really know the song (we don't care if you can sing well, just that you try). Maybe they will follow along and respond with the rest of us when the priest finishes his part. Maybe when the priests go to their sides to start the consecration, they won't just mill about in the middle, but will gravitate to one side or the other. Maybe, when we Pass the Peace, they will stretch out their hand and smile. Who knows, maybe a "Twice a year Christian" will become just a regular Christian.