On Mardi Gras and Sunday Worship

So it’s Mardi Gras down here in New Orleans and I’m loving every minute of it. I don’t know–maybe it’s the beads, the parades, the jazz that bleeds into the bloodstream. But I had something of an interesting experience a few days ago . . .

I was watching a parade go by, dancing to the music, and catching as many beads as would fit around my neck. It was a timeless moment–you know, when you forget the ticking of your watch and just savor the nearby sounds. In Greek there are two words for time. There’s chronos, which is linear time. Then there’s chiaros, which is momentary time. I was loving the momentary time, just dancing and celebrating to my soul’s content.

The next morning I woke up for church, put on my clothes, and sat in the pew with a half excited look on my face. Granted, the hymns were poppy, kind of like a little rock concert, all contemporary and drummy. I told my feet to do a little dance like last night, but they didn’t listen. I told my hands to do a little clapping, but they were glued to my pockets. I tried to move around a little bit, for the Psalmist does say “O clap your hands, all peoples; shout to God with the voice of Joy” (Psalm 47:1), but all I wanted to do was blend in with the atmosphere and keep my boredom to myself.

If you are anything like me, you’ll shout your head off at a game and sing with a whisper in a service. This world is full of us–sedated saints who forget the real reason for celebration. I think of Jesus, strolling through the cobbled streets of Jerusalem on a donkey, being lauded by Jews on either side. And one day there will be a bigger parade–a paradise parade–where every person will shout and sing for joy as Christ the King marches down streets of gold.

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