My sister asked me if I was interested in going to church, since it was Palm Sunday. “Well, I’m not going to burst into flame when I walk through the doors,” I replied

It was a “contemporary” service, which I was unfamiliar with and was deeply strange to me. No familiar hymns, not much in the way of prayer, low on theology, a four guitar (electric, two acoustic, bass) and drums attack on sub-Cranberries/Snow Patrol alt-rock-esque music, and an overly long sermon that reached an end and kept going. Some of it was baffling, some of it was unappealing, and some of it was downright alien. The hymnal, which went unused, wasn’t even a Methodist hymnal.

Very modern building, nothing in the way of stained glass to admire. They handed out palms for people to wave, there was a parade of children, and I got a gift bag with cookies, water, and a pen. I gave my niece five dollars to throw in the offering. I was a little overdressed, with shirt and tie.

It was fine.

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