Today, Ray and I went to St. Stephen’s Episcopal church here in Sherman. Normally, I play hookie from church when I’m in Texas since being here feels like vacation, but Ray had other plans for today. He had struck up a conversation with Carol and David Griffith, a couple we have recently gotten to know here in Sherman, and he discovered that we had something in common: the Episcopal Church. So, he suggested that we go together to church today and then have lunch. I had to laugh. Ray likes to call himself an ardent non-believer; however, for someone of that ilk, he goes to church more than many avowed Christians I know. My husband, he continues to surprise me.
As we waited this morning for the Griffiths to pick us up, I started to feel a nagging sense of dread. I went over and stared out the window, watching for their car.
Ray looked over at me. “This isn’t something unpleasant, you know. All we’re going to do is go over there and sit for an hour.”
“We both know what’s going to happen once we get there,” I said. “And since we’re going with the Griffiths…”
“Just tell them,” Ray said.
I consider his advice. It made sense. “All right. That’s just what I’ll do.”
Once in the car, I turned to David and Carol. “I need to warn you that I always cry when I visit St. Stephen’s. Ray and I had our wedding blessing there, and before we moved to LA with our girls we came to church here with my mother almost every Sunday. So, add that on to the funerals of two of my brothers, plus my mom’s and well…”
“No problem,” David said.
“We understand completely,” Carol added.
I was pleased. This was definitely the right way to go. Now I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed when I began to sniffle.
We walked into the church, settled into a pew, and the organ began to play. I saw a few people I knew who gave me a smile, and I noted the absence of a few older people, who I suspected were either sick or had passed away. I felt a surge of guilt for not coming more often when I was in town.
We began singing the first hymn and I was struck with the beautiful blend of voices from the small, but clearly talented choir, and how reminiscent this much smaller church was of my own St. Thomas the Apostle in Hollywood, steeped in rich Anglo-Catholic tradition. I sighed and thought, “Ah, I’m so glad we’ve come.”
Just then, I heard a sniffle coming from my right. I looked over to see Ray with his eyes filled with tears.
***
I’m very happy we went today to St. Stephen’s. It was so good to see old friends during coffee hour and I was deeply impressed with Father Yost and his wife, who is the organist. Ray and I agreed that we’d go back on our next trip.
I also enjoyed our “church date” with the Griffiths. We went to lunch afterwards and our daughter, Rachael, drove over from McKinney to join us. We had a lot of fun talking politics and religion over catfish and hush puppies. Lots of fun, indeed.
I must say that Ray becomes more and more interesting to me, the older we get. He is more willing to show his tender side as the years go by, which only makes me love him more.
Yes, I shed a few tears, too, during Mass, but not embarrassingly so. After all, I had followed my husband’s advice and forewarned my pew-mates. For some reason, that made all the difference.
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