I went back to my home church today, for the first time in a very long time.
I realized how much I miss many, many things about it.
But it's still so hard.
It's Trinity Sunday, and so we sang Holy, Holy, Holy.
That was the opening hymn for Josh's funeral service, because it is the opening hymn every Sunday at Chautauqua. When my kids got old enough to complain about accompanying us to the ampitheater service there ever summer, I told them that one day when they were old and still doing the same thing, they would look back with gratitude.
Guess I was wrong about that.
We've only been to Chautauqua once since Josh died, and that was to scatter some of his ashes into the lake on the first Thanksgiving. I'd like to go back for at least a day of BBT's preaching this summer, but I'm not sure that I'm up to it.
I can't figure out where to sit in church. No matter where I try, the memories of that service 21 months ago feel like a physical invasion.
When I skipped Pentecost last week, Gabriele wrote that by this time of year she is longing for the green of ordinary time.
Yes. It seems to me that ordinary time is quite complicated enough.