My husband Scott is not a church person.
Not even a little bit.
But was I going to let that stop me from getting my Easter Sunday on at the local Lutheran church this weekend?
Not in a million years!
I’ve spent the past few months scoping out different churches in Smalltown. Fortunately, living in the “Land of Lutherans” means this ELCA-raised girl has dozens of nearby congregations to choose from. The night before Easter, I checked out several different options online, ultimately deciding I would go to whichever service I naturally woke up in time for.
I’m sure it comes as no surprise that when I came to Easter morning, the only viable option was the 11:00 service at Calvary Lutheran. (What can I say? Katrina needs her beauty sleep.)
I invited Scott one last time, received a firm “Nope!”, and cheerily walked out the front door, hollering “He is risen, indeed!” before my exit. The absence of my husband wasn’t going to stop me from rolling into the sanctuary in my Sunday best!
Previous Easters spent in Smalltown have taught me that the good people of Minnesota don’t wear Easter bonnets. But at this point, I no longer gave two Easter Eggs about what my fellow church-goers thought of me. I mean…if you’re going to stroll in to the Lutheran church all by yourself on the biggest day of the liturgical calendar, you might as well do it with a comically large peony atop your head!
Especially if you and your brightly colored heels strut in twenty minutes after the services has started.
(Turns out I had my times mixed up. The 11:00 service actually started at 10:45. Whoops.)
I was disappointed to see that my fashionably late arrival meant the sanctuary was already full.
As was the narthex overflow area.
And the balcony.
After five minutes of wandering, I finally located an empty folding chair in the front row of the balcony overflow area. The bad news is that I couldn’t actually see any of the service. The good news is that with such nosebleed seats, my giant headpiece wouldn’t be obstructing a cranky church lady’s view of the pulpit.
While frustrated that I had missed the readings and was sitting in the cheap seats, my mood instantly improved when I heard the organist pounding out the intro to my favorite Easter hymn of all: “Thine is the Glory.” I had already belted the first two phrases with dramatic Easter gusto before realizing the harsh truth of the balcony overflow section:
I was quite literally the only person singing.
(I’m assuming this is due to the fact that the balcony overflow section is filled with a combination of non-regular church goers who don’t know any hymns and crying babies. Lots of crying babies.)
I paused for the rest of the first verse, not wanting to look like the crazy loner girl in the flower hat who treats the traditional Easter Hymns like an American Idol Hollywood week audition.
But then it hit me: I ditched my husband to come here. I had the nerve to show up a third of the way through the liturgy. I’m wearing a giant flower on my skull that is larger in circumference than my actual cranium.
I am the crazy loner girl in the flower hat who treats all the traditional Easter Hymns like an American Idol Hollywood week audition!
“Screw it!” I muttered under my breath. I took a deep breath, pushed my shoulders back, and started singing more loudly than I had the first time around. And you’d better believe I harmonized the final verse.
Because let’s face it — if you’re going to be the unstable looking church lady with a flower-pot for a head, you might as well really commit to it.