CHAPTER 11
At the ten o’clock eucharist, the one favored by the charismatics and people who brought children (heartily loathed by the Old Guard, regardless of what Jesus had to say on the subject), Montgomery’s sermon was the same. This time, however, he ignored me as carefully as I did him. First he’d been friendly, then he’d yelled at me, and now he was indifferent. Grief could make people strange.
The second service was completely different from the first. If the 8:00 service was the liturgical equivalent of a golf game, the 10:00 was a soccer match. Perhaps it was the three women and one man enthusiastically strumming guitars, playing the drums, and banging tambourines near the altar. Or maybe it was the people themselves crowded into the pews, their hands raised in the air as they e
