Advent 1. Rae and I sang "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" in English, odd counterpoint to the host of Chinese voices around us. The four of us (Ruth, Kendra, Rae and I) defected to the Roman Catholic church about a month ago. Enraptured as we were with the choir at the Protestant Church, we had gradually become uncomfortable with the worship style. The sermons were always at least an hour long, delivered in an unmistakable tone of exhortation. When our Chinese friend Daniel began translating a bit of it for us, it became clear that the content fit the tone – our own Puritan, Jonathan Edwards, had nothing on these preachers. For me, though, the most difficult thing was the Eucharist. It occurred once a month in the form of a kind of afterthought, tacked on at the end of the service after many worshipers had already left. I never dreamed that transubstantiation would become an issue in my daily life – but then I never dreamed I would find myself living in a remote city in China, either. To make a long story short, we sought out the Catholic church. None of us had appreciated quite how much we missed our (Anglican, Lutheran) style of worship. An altar! Candles! Vestments and even incense! "Ascribe to the Lord the honor due his Name; bring offerings and come into his courts" (Ps. 96). We are home at last. The service is easy to follow, albeit all in Chinese, because it’s exactly like our own. We have even looked up the R.C. lectionary on the internet, so we can read along with the Liturgy of the Word. We have been made to feel welcome, as we were at the Protestant church. Today a very old, bearded man made me a gift of a laminated card with an image of Mary and some Chinese text. Watching the very aged people going to Communion, I think of how they must have suffered during all the years that the churches were closed. I know I have, at times, been guilty of taking the Eucharist and its beautiful setting for granted. Lord, forgive me! Advent. It’s always wonderful, but this time, it’s extraordinary.