Holy Moley

I went to Easter service last Sunday...it marks the first time in Chicago I have gone to church without a wedding involved.  I consider myself a submarine Lutheran...we spend most of the year submerged and surface on major Christian holidays like Christmas and...um...Christmas.  Usually I am home visiting my parents and can attend the church I grew up in.  So I googled churches within walking distance and headed on over.  Jewed Law was a sweetheart and offered to go with me, until he the morning came and we were both hung over and tired.  Yes I am totally waiting to be struck down by a lightning bolt or raining frogs.
I picked a pew and sat down alone.  Shortly thereafter, a girl joined me asking if I was worshiping alone too.  She was my age and normal looking...and apparently wanted to be my new best friend.  From what I gleamed, she was a social worker and a big ole fan of Jesus Christ!  She swayed and grooved to every song, even though it was just her.  She also lifted up her hands when they say "lift up your hands"...yeah they mean it as a metaphor.  With her personal dance party and constant Hallelujah hands, she managed to be "that girl".
So the Easter service program booklet is an inch thick.  We sang like 50 hymns.  You know how there are 6 songs to get us through communion, but you only really sing 3 and quit unless there is a long line and need to sing one more to make sure everyone is served without awkward silence of shifting pew creaks.  Well this church only needed three...but we sang all six for good measure.  In fact we sang every song in the program, and each song had at least FIVE verses!  Clearly this church loved to sing because in addition to the full playlist of songs, they sang everything from the Lord's prayer to the call and responses.  Plus they had a jazz band that liked to rock out.  As I watched the minutes tick on and on, I soon stated to despise the musicians for deciding create a jam session in the hymns.  Seriously where in "Go Tell it on the Mountain" is a trumpet solo?  I knew they were fucking with me (and the other rusty submarine worshipers) when all prayers/calls/responses/etc. after the sermon were done first in English, then in Spanish, and then again in English (in case the Spanish made you forget what that was all about).
Thankfully I had all the discounted candy to console my heathen soul.