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I walk into one of the city’s historically prominent churches to attend a Christmas piano and pipe organ concert. The church resembles a miniature cathedral. The nave features two expansive seating areas. Stained glass windows circle the apse. A balcony curves around three sides of the interior and includes two private seating “boxes.” Paneled doors and walls, as well as carved window frames and railings, are all trimmed in richly aged, golden oak.
Yard upon yard of green garland and thousands of white lights twine around posts and railings. A tall Christmas tree and more than 50 red poinsettias add warmth to the chancel.
The interior easily seats hundreds. There are 59 of us present. (Yes, I counted. Not 58 or 60. 59.) I am the youngest in attendance. There are no children. No young couples. No young families. The concert begins. The two musicians play with a classical style I rarely get to enjoy. I accompany them by “air playing” on my knees.
After the concert I converse with the elderly gentleman seated behind me. He shares that the church has an endowment established to maintain the edifice. I learn that the stained glass windows alone are valued at between $600 thousand and $1 million. Conversing with him is fascinating.
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Two hours later I am standing in a warm and bright church in the country. I am waiting while an usher locates a seat for me in the crowded sanctuary. I estimate that over 200 people are present. Beside me a young father is holding his four-week old son. Everywhere I see parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents enjoying their families. Siblings jab, poke, and otherwise have fun antagonizing one another. Young couples exchange shy smiles, indicating possible romantic interests.
Photo Credit: Lorene Coblentz
The service begins. We all quote the gospel message from John 3:16-17. The choir sings their arrangements joyfully. The congregation sounds like a mass choir after following the song leader’s instructions, “For verse four, ladies sing melody and men hum,” and then, “Only the men sing on line 2.”
There is no instrumental music, “only” amazing four-part vocal melody and harmony. The choir concludes the service by singing Handle’s Hallelujah Chorus. (A-Capella mind you!) The swell of song fills each listener and the room itself.
Afterwards people mill around laughing and talking; the sanctuary teems with life. A few nights later 18 of those same people stand on my back porch, singing carols to my brother and I.
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This has been a Christmas story of two churches.
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