Don't look for the living in the place of the dead

Easter Sunday! I want to celebrate the risen Jesus with joy!

And so I go to church. It was horrible. The screen said "Welcome!" - but the people certainly didn't. The presenter woffles on about joy and prays, and gives the notices, and says a bit more about joy - and then eventually we get to the first hymn: a ghastly Victorian number, and if you happen to be in possession of a hymn book you can sing along. We are accompanied by a piano and a soloist.

After the hymn the soloist and his pianist launch into their own programme... Give me back Lutheran hymns, all is forgiven, even 16th century Lutheran hymns! We had to suffer a performance by a male opera singer accompanied by a pompous theatrical piano. We, the congregation, were nothing but audience - and the show was ghastly.

So when the children left, so did I. But not to be put off, I press on to another church, arriving 45 minutes late, but never mind.

The atmosphere was far more modest, no pomposity or theatrical performance. In time for a dirge-like hymn - but at least they provided the words. Then the sermon: Easter joy, etc. But where was the said joy? He quoted the line from the Easter narrative, "Don't look for the living in the place of the dead." And I realized I'd made the same mistake. I was looking for the living in the place of the dead. Both churches paid lip-service to joy but neither church showed evidence of joy. The service concluded with a hymn and - horror of horrors - it was the same hymn as the first church had had. One up on the first church: they provided the words. But they sang it so slowly; a funeral dirge would have been fast in comparison. And the only accompaniment: a veteran organist.

I won't return to either of those churches in a hurry. I want life! I want joy! I need to look for the living in the place of the living. Just need to find where that place of the living is.