Marvelous Grace . . .

Training for poll observers begins in a little while. I am about to head off to the University of Cincinatti College of Law.

But this morning I woke up early. The extra hour given when we quit saving daylight was burned up for me because of this eastern time zone thing, but still, I woke up with the sun.

The free breakfast here at the Hampton Inn was too easy and paid for, so I opted for that. But then I went exploring. I am staying across the river from Cincinatti in Covington, KY. It is a really cool old town. Kind of like stepping back into a black and white thirties movie.

As I rode down one of the streets I came upon what used to be the First Methodist Church. It is now Grace United Methodist, a campus of Immanuel United Methodist. I wandered in about ten o'clock to see what was happening. The praise band was practicing in the old traditional sanctuary. Apparently some things are universal. The band was confused about how many times they were going to repeat the chorus of Marvelous Light. I sat and watched and listened, feeling very much at home in the comfortable place. A woman was in the back and in the front and all over the place getting ready for the service. As it turns out she is from Glencoe, Alabama, and has one son still in college at Auburn. Small world.

We sang several songs. One was Salvation is Here, a song I had begun to learn last month at First Methodist in Birmingham. After suffering through their practice and hearing it in the service, I think I have it now.

The preacher was intense about his message of redemption in Christ. At one point he referenced the song I Can Only Imagine, a praise song from a few years ago, and how it reached him in his thoughts about what his reaction will be when the veil is lifted. His sermon was on The Bridge. The church is located in the shadow of a couple of bridges across the river. He talked about crossing the bridge to Grace. He liked the idea that all of the people of the area would cross the bridges to come to Grace United Methodist, but acknowledged that the real message was much greater than that.

The prayer concerns were long and represented much pain and need for healing. It was All Saints Sunday and we celebrated the Saints who had crossed the Bridge . . . you know, the big Bridge. Lots of tears. Lots of candles. Nothing rushed. Everything personal. I was glad I was there. Grace United Methodist is in ministry to the street folk of Cincinatti and Covington. More than half the congregation were there through that truly open door. We had church. What a joyful thing.

So it is true. We are all part of a really big, beautiful body. And much of it is comfortingly familiar no matter where you are.