Sunday morning in Reykjavik 

Today is church.  My friend and I walked the half mile uphill in the cold and rain to worship. It was glorious. 

As I entered the nave, the choir was practicing.  As beautiful music surrounded me, I lit candles with prayer intentions for friends, family, and neighbors. 

The liturgy was in Icelandic; however, the usher gave us a warm welcome and handed me a guide to worship in English. 

Grateful for the printed guide, I thought of Molly and Jennifer back at home.  I was appreciative for the difference it makes to have a person sitting right beside who is familiar with the service to guide us through. The paper, though very well-intentioned, is not as helpful as a neighbor.  

Worship, no matter what the language, is still centered with God,  and I knew pretty much what was going on and could chime in English at appropriate moments.  The sermon was preached with enthusiasm, but except for hearing Mary and Martha mentioned,  I hadn’t a clue. 

After worship, we walked around the corner for cappacinos and a light lunch at our favorite local coffee spot, Reykjavik Roasters. 

It was a good morning. 

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