Lent Day 25: Proud Papa

Today's daily grind, which I think used to be called the "rat race," concluded in the most pleasant of ways at a Lenten Vespers service filled with beautiful contemplative music, readings, a sermon and a "proud papa" moment.

I love Vespers (or evening service) because of its reserved character, a perfect tonic at the end of the day.  I'm not sure I would like the monastic life with reserved times for prayer and meditation throughout the day, but an evening service on Wednesdays throughout Advent and Lent seems about right to me.  And the fact that it was right after a Lenten Vespers service that I had the guts to ask Denise for a cup of hot chocolate at the now defunct "Parkmoor" restaurant (now a Walgreen's, of course), and then over that hot chocolate ask her out for a first date makes the season even more memorable.

But today, as I left the ever-increasing pile of uncompleted tasks at the office, I rushed to church to enjoy a community supper (corned beef and cabbage, even though the church's heritage was originally strongly German), and then quickly jumped into my A/V guy mode.  This is slightly odd because I was never the A/V guy in high school, but I do a lot of that now at church and at the office.  My job was to get daughter Amy and best friend (of several best friends) Miriam hooked up with lavaliere (lapel) microphones for a mini-play during the service.

I had heard them practicing throughout dinner but didn't really pay attention to the lines.  My job was to make sure their lines could be heard.

Amy read the Gospel lesson, and something was wrong with her mike.  She was audible enough, barely from the back pew (which is not an issue because of the smaller attendance for Vespers).  Turns out she couldn't reach the Un-mute switch under her shirt before she started the reading.  But that was remedied in time for their play.

The play was a modern retelling of the Parable of the Prodigal Son, as told by the Elder Sister (instead of Elder Brother).  Amy played the Elder Sister while Miriam played her best friend.  The Elder Sister's part reflected that of the play-it-by-the-rules sibling, disdainful of the younger sibling's wasteful ways.  The play did a great job in modernizing the responsible sibling's language in describing the irresponsible one... which is fantastic because most people tend to look at this parable and see how the younger sibling, after burning out from the partying life, returns home and welcomed home with a feast.  Not punishing or ignoring him, but with a feast to celebrate the return of one who once was thought dead but if found alive.

One of my mentors (Ed Schroeder) taught this parable from the German translation, and the Germans call this story "The Lost Boys."  It's not just the younger irresponsible one who is lost; the older one has lost his (in this case her) grasp of what's most important and not truly loving his parent and his sibling.  (See here for a recent mention of Ed on lost coins, sheep and boys from Luke.)  It's not just about following the rules, but about relationships, in this case the Father's love for both children, which is great enough to cover the 'good' one and the 'not-so-good' one.

As Amy read her lines she talked about her wanton younger brother and her dodo-head father.  I wonder how much she enjoyed reading those lines with a 'meta' meaning, projecting onto Noah and me, even if for just a second.

On the other hand, as I was absorbing this age-old story revamped for modern audiences, and I deeply am filled with joy whenever I hear this story, I felt the 'meta' as well.

Amy and Miriam (and another friend Genevieve) have known each other for an impossibly long time; they were all in the womb (not the same one) simultaneously.  They're the closest thing to blood sisters without actually sharing blood.  They love each other, but also treat each other... well as one would treat siblings.  And here they were, portraying best friends in a church skit.

Miriam and Amy, in particular, have always loved putting on shows.  From the time they could speak they would stand on a stairwell landing, jointly singing songs they loved.  They won't admit to liking this, but they used to sing the best of Barney's (the purple dinosaur) songs.  Eventually they would mimic their favorite sketches, then other songs, then ad-libbing their lines.  They both love "Wicked," and for Miriam's birthday one year we gave her the piano/song book from that musical.

To see them tonight, delivering a pitch-perfect dramatic rendition of this updated parable, makes my heart sing.  It's not just the quality of their performance or their talent.  It's because they contributed to our worship in their own unique way, reflecting their special relationship.  They're not blood sisters, in the literal sense.  But the bond they share, in their faith and the sacraments, may be even stronger than blood ties.  So, it wasn't just their speaking the lines well, it's that the lines were being spoken from their hearts, of a story they know well of God's love and what it means to their lives.




So tonight I am a proud papa... and also humbled by the blessings of Amy and Miriam in my life.


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