I was given an early heads up that Erin and The Ponds would be in town, and it was a pleasant surprise seeing Lance and Big Phil.
Because of the gravitational pull a certain institution of higher learning in this town has on our quirky church, the ebbs and flow of our attendance can be slightly different that what is typical of a more "grown up" congregation. Easter and Christmas are dead, but break out the extra chairs for when Homecoming and an eerily strange little ritual called "Sing" rolls around. Summers can be busy, but mostly with people passing through town hoping to catch a glimpse of some dude named David. (Incidentally, there's a joke floating around that we should purchase one of those neon signs, like Krispy Kreme, that is lit up when the Crowder Band is in town, and turned off when they are not. This would help navigate church vans full of disapointed youth groups away from town and to their destinations earlier than expected.)
And then there are the surprise Sundays. Like creatures following a sweet song back to the place that feels like home, the home of their spirit, the plot of ground where the walls of an ancient faith came down and the light began to shine.
Am I being melodramatic? So be it.
We are young, but twelve years is old enough to have a hell of a past. Sometimes the characters of a story come back for a cameo. When this happens we are reminded who we are. We introduce the old to the new, knowing full well they are parts of different acts of the same production. George Clooney meets John Stamos, if you will.
At any rate, yesterady was a great day.