The new fire outside the new church prepared me for other changes that the new pastor, in his second Easter, has instituted.¹

I gave Tim a moment by the fire ...

then we entered the dark church and, being ten minutes later than I planned, we weren't as close as I wanted. But, then, the reserved seating for the catechumens, sponsors, family and guests take up about ten rows, on either side of the center aisle. One middle-aged man was sprawled out on the cushioned pew just behind the reserved rows, as if asleep, in an attempt to save most of the row. I thought to myself, "This isn't a bus terminal" and moved on back.

The people around were as chatty as ever. Nary a prayer bein' lifted. The tired business of playing with ring tones, talking about work - it all felt like deja vu, even down to the fur-coat wearing elderly lady who gradually slumped left during the readings, only to sit bolt upright when the tambourines sounded! Your pastor has changed, Hamilton, but you haven't.

Timmy put me in no position to look down my nose at any of them because he was 1,000 times worse. I was ready to lie to the woman next to us: "Please, you must understand, he's a foster child from an abused home. He has a neurological disorder, please! He's adopted but his birth mother took drugs and alcohol, you must understand!" But I resisted the temptation to lie. He's my kid and none of those other things are true.

Now, two nights ago, I held a struggling Ella in my arms for two hours. Tonight I held a struggling Timmy for about the same amount of time. In other words, my arms are tired and sore. 'Though I guess those two kids weight about the same (good for Ella, poor for Timmy).

Timmy asked why the church was dark and I said that it's as if everyone is sleeping. I didn't want to be too exact ... and too morbid ... so I used a euphemism. I told him that when the lights come on, it will be as if we all wake up.

He and I went back to the new fire as summoned by the deacon. Timmy was directly in front of it; I don't think I've ever been so close. But then the catechumens came and stood in front of us and he got cold as a result. I held him against me and wrapped my coat around him.

The Exsultet wasn't my favorite arrangement but it was sung beautifully by neither a priest nor a deacon.

The readings² went the same as usual: the chapel lights turned on when the reader said, "Let there be light." In response to the Genesis reading, Timmy said to me, "God says all these things and they happen!" Exactly. God's like a superhero to kids.

I remember in years past one of the readings being a duet between an elderly husband and wife. Isaiah 54, perhaps. But that didn't happen. Maybe one of them passed away. And maybe she did the Isaiah 55 reading instead.

One of my favorites:

For just as from the heavens
the rain and snow come down
and do not return there
till they have watered the earth,
making it fertile and fruitful,
giving seed to the one who sows
and bread to the one who eats,
so shall my word be
that goes forth from my mouth;
my word shall not return to me void,
but shall do my will,
achieving the end for which I sent it.

After the third Old Testament reading, the woman next to us checked her watch.

Father began his homily with an Eastern Christian greeting with which I was unfamiliar: "Christ is Risen!" and we were supposed to say, "He Has Risen Indeed!"³

There were eight baptisms and Timmy and I walked back to the narthex to watch. There's a camera and the live action is projected on the wall in the sanctuary but I wanted him to see it in person. He noticed that most of the candidates were female and he asked why. I didn't have an answer. I held him up high so he could see. For all I know, the camera picked up our image as well! He thought it was interesting.

After we returned to our seats, I announced to Timmy loud enough for the lady next to us to hear, "'Bout halfway through now!" She looked at her watch again. As the candidates for confirmation were being sealed with the Holy Spirit, the folks behind us - who were actually there on behalf of a candidate - let out an audible, "Oh, come on already!"

Plenty of people left before it was over ... and not just parents of young children. In fact, during the closing song - and the music was absolutely outstanding, timpani have such a powerful, solemn sound - regular folks were walking out the center aisle ahead of the pastor!

Now, I gotta wonder about something. Monsignor Stan blessed Timmy at communion time and told him to be a good boy. Timmy has a habit of sticking his tongue out at adults who talk to him or try to be nice to him. In this instance, I wasn't watching for Timmy's reaction. I was actually afraid to look or unwilling to make a scene by scolding. The deacon serving the cup also blessed Timmy. Then, during the recessional, Monsignor Stan locked eyes with Timmy as he passed us, so I can only imagine! One way or another, Timmy made an impression on the monsignor.

The bank of candles that were closed off for the Triduum were open, so I had enough money with me for Timmy to light seven candles, the "fullness of wishes." He was pleased as punch and insisted that we walk around the entire church on our way to our car. And we did that and came home.

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¹ Stayed local with Ella last year. Two years ago.

² Selection of possible readings.

³ Incidentally, at a Presbyterian church this Easter Sunday morning, the pastor greeting his congregation in the same way, explaining the Eastern European origin of the expression. The topic must have come up at a Central New Jersey Pastors' Conference or something because it's just too much of a coincidence.