Easter service with, er, turtles

This Easter we visited two churches, one an established congregation we are familiar with and the second a small but growing church pastored each week by a Young Person in our family, age 9.

This second church, which meets every Sunday afternoon in the Young Person's room, consists mainly of parishioners who are stuffed animals and figurines, ranging from turtles to elephants to creatures of no recognizable species. There are occasionally visits by humans as well. On Easter there were three of us.

To begin the service we sang a hymn, and as I was the only one who knew the melody, I was asked to lead the others in the singing. The pastor was insistent that in this church we sing all verses to a song, and although we may have privately wished that she had chosen a song with just four verses instead of nine, I will say the singing was very heartfelt, particularly as we got to verse eight and anticipated just one more verse to go. By the time we finished, even the animals were quite familiar with the tune.

After the song the pastor settled in to give her message. Here she encountered a difficulty, admitting that she had not prepared as perhaps she could have for this part of the service. We waited for her to receive inspiration, and she finally flung her hands out to us and said in a strong, confident voice, "When you think about Easter...WHAT do you think of?"

She looked at us expectantly.

"Is this a participatory church?" I whispered to the pastor's mother, seated next to me. I didn't want to offer an answer aloud if we were intended to just answer the question in our minds. I might be escorted out by a polar bear and gently admonished about respecting the sacredness of the service. Of course, the same thing might happen in consequence of my whispering.

But the pastor encouraged us to speak up. And not just us. Each animal in turn was asked what he or she thought about Easter, and then the pastor ascertained what a duck, for example, might answer and interpreted it for the rest of us. Some animals were clearly spiritually inclined, saying they thought of such things as the resurrection, or going to church. Others appeared captivated by eggs and bunnies and chocolate ears. Each answer was diligently recorded by the pastor to be read back later.

I admit that this part of the service got a little long and my mind wandered, at least until the part about chocolate ears, at which mention my own ears perked up. I wondered if we would partake of snacks in this church, but I thought it best not to inquire in the middle of this solemn discussion.

Then came the passing of the offering plate. Some of us were not prepared for this part, as our offerings are generally made in private. The first parishioner picked up a penny from the plate and set it back inside. The pastor looked at her frankly and pointed out that she had merely used a coin already in the offering. I jumped in immediately, knowing that I had little choice but to do the same when it came my turn, and noted aloud that whenever we give to the Lord we are really just giving back what He's already given us. I regarded this as pretty sound theology, but the pastor merely gave me the same frank look. Not wanting to be further admonished, when my turn came I just pretended to pick up a coin and put it back in.

The pastor shared that the total collected for the day was 18 cents, and that the total collected in the entirety of the church's lifetime was...18 cents. Evidently the weekly attendees, turtles and so on, are rather poorly off and cannot contribute much, although they are terrifically attentive to the sermons. The pastor hastened to explain, however, that offerings had only been collected for the past two weeks, so surely things will pick up.

At the end we had a very moving prayer about the Lord's sacrifice and the hope His resurrection gives us. I noticed the pastor avoided any temptation she might have felt to ask the Lord to move the congregation to give more generously in the future than they had seemed inclined to do today. She is very wise for her age.

There was a final hymn, a solo by the pastor -- in small churches, one wears several hats -- as she ushered the animals out of the sanctuary and back to their homes on her bed, the shelf, and so on. When this was finished she went to the open window, stuck her head out, and sang a song I was not familiar with, but which was meant to encourage those "who didn't make it to church today." And then the rest of us were dismissed and encouraged to come again.

Which we hope to do sometime. This time we'll bring our own coins.