On Easter Sunday I’ll be in our historic village church, singing my head off.
First built in 1869, it’s Anglican (aka Episcopalian or Church of England).
For our church community, Easter Sunday is the happiest day of the year, happier even than Christmas. It’s the day of the miracle of the resurrection.
When our priest Claire (a Guyanese-Canadian woman who joined us a few years ago) says “Christ is risen”, I ring my hand-bell till my husband begs me to stop.
When the time comes to sing hymns (singing is a rare thing in this contemplative Anglican service), I do so more loudly, more off-key than anyone else.
My husband is probably embarrassed.
But I’m too busy singing to notice.
I’ll be ringing and singing along with about 35 or 36 other souls at the 8:30 a.m. service.
“ONLY 36 other people?”…
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