Virginia Episcopalian Magazine Summer 2013 Issue | Page 35

readers’ page
A regular feature in the magazine where Virginia Episcopalians can
share their voices. For this issue, we asked our contributors to respond
to one question:

What’s Your Funniest Liturgical Moment?
Carolyn Voldrich
Church of Our Saviour, Charlottesville

Suzanne Hall
St. James’s, Richmond

Choral evensong is a quiet, contemplative service to uplift our
souls. After the service everyone leaves in silence. Which would
have been the case, until everyone read aloud the closing statement
in the bulletin: “World without men. Amen.” All bulletins are now
done in-house.

Years ago at St. James’s, Richmond, I was a lay Eucharistic
minister, and thought that I had noted that no lay reader had
stepped up to read the psalm. Thinking I was saving the day, I went
to the lectern and led the congregation in a responsive reading. I
later realized that it had been sung by the choir when we passed the
peace when the priest said, “It was so good we did it twice!” No one
else said a word after the service. It WAS a very beautiful psalm.

Jennifer Addington
Church of the Good Shepherd, Burke

A number of years ago, my husband (the late Rev. Lloyd
Addington), was celebrating Eucharist. It was summer, and the
young children had come up from Sunday School to circle around the
altar and watch the Great Thanksgiving up close. When he elevated
the host, and proclaimed “Alleluia, Christ our passover is sacrificed
for us,” one little boy pumped his fists in the air, and came out with
a loud “Yes!” Needless to say, the entire congregation burst out
laughing. Lloyd just said, “Good an answer as any” and kept right on
with the service.

The Rev. Roger Bowen
Diocese of Southwestern Virginia, Former Chaplain for
Shrine Mont Camps

Easter Sunday morning, celebrating the Holy Eucharist. 

Glorious choir. Packed church. The altar is banked with
hundreds of Easter lilies.

It was one of those absolutely special moments in the liturgical
year, notably the consecration, the Pascal Feast. 

And yet, Mr. Very Large Bumblebee knew not where he flew
when he exited one of those exquisite blooms. 

He managed a dramatic loop-dee-loop right over the celebrant
(moi), as the congregation’s eyes followed this brilliant maneuver.
And then, the fuzzy golf ball-sized hummer executed the perfect
nosedive, top speed, directly into the chalice. 

There was a visible kerplunk. Points off for splash.

But, once in the wine, Bumble had trouble gaining air again. He
thrashed about in the cup, wings beating furiously, sending out and
up a red mist, a spray. Lo – a volcano of wine!

Worshipers’ eyes widened. Celebrant backed off. 

Yet, after a minute, a life time, behold! The big fella managed
some lift, and up and away he flew ... not in a straight line, however. 

Hiccough.

We continued.

The Rev. Barbara Marques
Christ Church, Glen Allen

My funniest liturgical moment was when I was bursting forth
the joy of Prayer C and lauded the primal elephants instead of the
primal elements. What could I do but just go on?

The Rev. Malcolm Rogers
Diocese of Liverpool

I’m not sure if this is true or liturgical myth, but so the story goes.
A young Liverpool curate reciting the prayer from the 1980 Church of
England Alternative Service Book – “Father of all we give you thanks
and praise that when we were still far off you met us in your Son
and brought us home” – gave the congregation something to smile
about when what was accidentally said was, “You met us in your CAR
and brought us home.” Then there is the classic story of someone
preaching on Pentecost Sunday, and what I think they meant to say
was that “the church is like a mighty organism …”

Doug Strait
Holy Cross, Dunn Loring

In the earliest days of Holy Cross, Dunn Loring’s existence, we met
in Dunn Loring School with the minimum of accoutrements because
they needed to be carried to the school and back each Sunday.

Among them was a Sanctus Bell and mallet, both of which were
“hand-me-downs” and well worn.

One Sunday as the bell was rung during the Prayer of
Consecration, the head of the mallet departed the handle and bounced
across the floor toward the congregation. There was a sincere attempt
by the acolytes and congregants to maintain their composure but their
shaking shoulders betrayed their angelic looks as they attempted to
suppress an uncontrollable urge to laugh out loud.

The mallet and the bell have survived the 33 years since it
happened and the story is part of the folklore that has been passed
on to the hundreds of new people that are now part of the Holy
Cross family.

We received so many submissions around this topic that we’ll be printing additional responses in our Fall 2013 issue!

Summer 2013 / Virginia Episcopalian

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