My hometown of Brockton, MA has survived the years since I moved away, but time has beaten some of the polish out of it. I remember gorgeous old churches on street corners, churches made of stone with impressive turrets and stained glass windows. The fact that they weren’t Catholic Churches meant that I never ventured inside though. Some of these beautiful buildings are gone now, and the corners they stood on now hold far less beautiful, but possibly necessary, building’s like Walgreen’s, etc. A friend told me that there used to be four Congregational churches in Brockton, each in it’s own lovely building. But each of those buildings eventually needed repairs that couldn’t be afforded so they joined forces into one Congregational church, and I did venture inside with a friend yesterday. I went to the service with her in order to surprise my cousin who sings in the choir, a plan I hatched last summer. But I was glad that I went yesterday because there was to be a children’s Christmas pageant that day. It was charming, written by the group and punctuated by beloved Christmas Carols to help tell the story. It was very well done, simple and charming. And that’s how I would describe the entire service. Simple and personal. And the church itself was beautiful, but not opulent. White beams and a magnificent organ. If I’ve been taking a trip into the past, nostalgic for things as the used to be, then I found it there. Not in a fancy church, but in a sweet and charming service. Helped along by the fact that the show was stolen by the little boy in a homemade sheep costume, who stopped to hug his mother and then had to gallop down the aisle to catch up with the rest of the players. No picture though, but I know you get it.
A Snowbird's Life Through the Lens 