Chapter Nine

The service, Hazel thought as she shuffled efficiently through her built-up stack of administrative obligations, was hard to categorize.

It wasn't at all like the sort of "follow the bulletin" worship programs she recalled from childhood. You got your paper folder at the door, and much of the service was spent checking in on the typed outline or flipping over to the right page in the hymnal.

The Salvage Yard didn't have a bulletin, and didn't really seem to have a structure. They sang two or three songs, and then someone (not Nicholas) led a prayer, then they sang another song, there was a statement Nicholas made in a soft but emphatic voice, and then everyone was up again and out of their chairs moving around, with people turning to her and extending a hand to say "Peace be with you." Hazel could tell some said "And also with you" in the background noise, which she began to respond with as well, though some were clearly saying something longer, the exact words varying but usually involving peace, and Jesus.

Then everyone sat down, a few things were said by different people about events coming up here, at the college, and in town at a soup kitchen they apparently worked at. Nicholas read out of a Bible whose translation was striking, something clearly out of New Testament scriptures but in forceful, modern language, and then he began to speak.

She was sitting there, staring out her window into the tangle of branches across the one side, trying to recall what he had said. There were phrases, images that were sticking with her, but not entire sentences or a flow of argument exactly.

"A journey with others," "traveling through darkness with light enough for the next step," "hope is a gift, not an effort we failed to make if we find ourselves without it," and finally "when Jesus said 'I will be with you always' he was talking, among other things, about right now, about being with you."

Then there was a shifting, and some people moved to the floor, sitting flat or kneeling, others turned and knelt into their chairs, while a few moved to behind the group and stood, some eyes open and others closed with their hands extended and facing upwards.

Behind Nicholas a table could now be seen to have a candle, a pair of flowers in a lovely blue glass vase, and a large contemporary unframed icon, showing Jesus and his disciples in conversation depicted in the spiky, angular lines of an eastern Orthodox style image.

The music rose up softly, in a short line of chant that everyone sang over and over again. Most, but not all were looking at the candle, or the icon, or both; many, but not everyone had their hands clasped or folded (except those standing to the rear), and Hazel found herself doing the same, not quite bowing her head, but looking about more than looking at the table which now defined a certain "front" of the worship gathering.

It was almost minor key, but she wasn't sure, and the words were "O Lord, hear my prayer; O Lord, hear my prayer; In my prayer, answer me," words which she soon began to sing softly herself. After a few repetitions, she closed her eyes, and almost felt as if she was falling asleep, but did not stop singing.

A few shifted chords and the song came to an end, and then there was silence. There were sounds of breathing and occasional shifting of weight and scraping against the bare concrete floor by some of the chairs (the table with the candle and icon sat on a lovely Persian rug whose pattern drew Hazel's eye as much as the flame did).

She was not sure how long the silence lasted, and felt no desire to check her watch, a sensation she realized marked much of her average day. They all sat or knelt or stood, and the room felt calm, expectant, ready in some anticipatory way.

Then she heard Nicholas' voice gently begin a spoken, impromptu prayer, with first names coming up that she recognized as being some of those among her fellow worshipers here, and then with a slight shock heard her name - or was it another Hazel? - that he asked for "special blessing" on from God.

And then it was over, and everyone began to turn and speak in everyday tones to each other as they all rose and stretched, and it seemed to her that they were exiting one kind of space and entering another even as it had been the old chilly warehouse the whole time.