Sunday at the Beach

All night we heard that peculiar roaring sound that the wind makes as it howls through the metal balconies of this condo buildings; it rises and falls in pitch and volume as the wind speed changes, a ghostly accompaniment to the roaring surf when the wind picks up.  A man in the elevator one floor above us asked if we knew what that sound was last night, and I explained; he seemed intrigued.  It made me feel like an "old hand" with intimate knowledge about this condo and the elemental parts of the world of a barrier island.

Martha did not take a photo of me dressed for morning Tai Chi - I was clad in as many layers as I could find, and once or twice the wind threw me off  balance.  After breakfast we prepared for church services at the First United Methodist Church in Morehead City, where we have worshiped nearly every Sunday since our first visit two years ago.  That was a memorable visit!  We were the surprised beneficiaries of the Bread Ministry, a sweet loaf of bread presented without fanfare to all first-time visitors who raise their hands, delivered in a little blue canvas bag with information about the church.   Rev. Powell Osteen customarily walks down the aisle before service, greeting everybody, not missing a single soul, and last year he peered at me and said, "I think I recognize you from last year;" so we knew that we would never again qualify for this loaf of bread while this man with such a long memory was walking the aisle.  And what a treasure he is!  I have heard many sermons in my lifetime, but Powell is a once-in-a-lifetime preacher, each sermon an absolute gem that students of homiletics in any religion should listen to with appreciation.

This is a warm and loving church, and no doubt these Presbyterians would join it if we lived here year-round.  It is filled with children and families, and it strives to live as the final words of the service in the bulletin declare, after two angelic acolytes have processed up the aisle, lit the altar candles, and then recessed, transferring the flame back to the candlelighters:  CARRYING THE LIGHT OF CHRIST INTO THE WORLD.  

The scripture was the second chapter of James, and Powell wove a beautiful little sermon about the need to live out a Christian's faith:  "Show Me."  After the service I went to FUMC's Facebook page and scrolled through over 500 photos, looking for one of the church - photos of families and children and fellowship time and dinners and playground - but found not a single one of the building in which this vibrant church meets.  So this is the building, from my bulletin, folded so that a cross appears in the background.

And today my thoughts are thinking about this Cross and about mortality, about life and death, and are saddened terribly because we learned that our friend and neighbor Cindy Soderstrom died this morning, at the same time that I was sitting in a pew in this church, singing the verses of "Come, Thou Font of Many Blessings."  Cindy had been in the ICU at Mission Hospital since December 27, and we have prayed for her every day since then.  Our thoughts and prayers are with Bill Soderstrom in the coming days.  As our former Pastor Lee Bowman always said at the end of a service:

 

"Life is short,

And we do not have much time

to gladden the hearts of those who

make the journey with us.

So… be swift to love,

and make haste to be kind.

And the blessing of God,

who made us,

who loves us,

and who travels with us

be with you now and forever."