The priest stepped up to the pulpit, motioned to the congregation to sit down, looked around, paused, and then said something like,

“I’m sorry. I just want to tell you how happy I am to see everyone here today.”

What prompted this comment? Was it a prepared part of the sermon, illustrating the text for the day? Was it a spontaneous remark prompted by seeing several people we have been praying for or by seeing people returning with the school year after a long summer? It could have been any of these things. To me, it felt like the Holy Spirit coming and providing words that fit all of these and more.

"what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, `Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

I am a writer and at times a photographer. I try to capture those little revealing moments that too often pass unobserved; the poem about something seen alongside the road, the candid photograph that captures the essence of the whole event. That little phrase at the beginning of the sermon seemed exactly like that.

I remember years ago learning about negative space, the space around an object. I learned about John Cage’s 4’33”, four minutes and thirty three seconds of listening to the sounds that take place around a musical performance.

“I’m sorry. I just want to tell you how happy I am to see everyone here today.” is part of that space around the Eucharist. The smiles shared between two people on the prayer list as they knelt at the altar waiting to receive communion is part of that space.

Like the friends of the woman who lost, and then found a silver coin, we were all invited to gather and celebrate. We call that celebration the Eucharist. To an outsider, the fair seems a bit meager; a small piece of bread and a sip of some wine. Yet to those of us close to the person throwing the party, it is the most precious gift we can receive, the body of Christ, the bread of heaven, the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.

At the end of the celebration, we carry that spirit out into the world around us, reminded to tell those we meet, how happy we are to see them, a happiness given to us by God, a happiness reflecting God’s happiness at each person who stops, even for a moment, to experience even just a small amount of God’s love for us.

At Christmas time for the past couple years, I have been Santa to the children that come to the health center where I work. Some chlidren eagerly rush to see me. Others are shy and I beckon to them. I wave. I smile. When they approach, I tell them how happy I am to see them, how I have been waiting for them to come. Perhaps I am reflecting much more than Santa in these words. Perhaps I am reflecting the life of Saint Nicholas upon whom Santa is based. Perhaps I am sharing a little of the love from my Lord, from the Lord of St. Nicholas, and passing it on to the children that come.

As I sat in the pew, I was happy to be there. It had been a very long week for me and I expect the coming week to also be very long, but hopefully for different reasons. It was great to hear that someone was happy to see me, and I remember how much I need to remind people that I am happy to see them.

“I’m sorry. I just want to tell you how happy I am to see everyone here today.”