It was a normal day at church. As people were gathering and chatting, the organist and choir provided a quiet, meditation-inducing prelude. We were there seeking the profound meaning promised by the gothic structure, the stained-glass windows, the lighted candles, the altar with its seasonal drapes, and the empty cross. All were there to remind us of the noble history, mythology, and values the Church stands for.

An announcement reminded us that these facilities require money for maintenance and staff, bringing home the practical measures required for upkeep and for program  implementation. The practical side as well as the profound dimension of this religious institution were quite clearly on display.

            Then came the processional hymn with the robed choir and pastor coming down the aisle to loud and grand music filled with “Alleluia’s.” At its finale, there was a moment of congregational silence when we were left musing on the rhythmic complexity, the chordal progressions, the poetry, and the skillful performance of an amazing piece of music.

            While I was caught up in the technicalities of orchestrating this appropriately majestic introduction to an act of worship, a small voice emerged from the momentary quiet. A little girl sitting behind me shouted “Yeeaah!” with all the boisterous gusto of a primary school cheerleader.

            She got it right.