Question about Easter service

Hey, y'all!

I'm working on a novel that takes place in rural North Carolina (Piedmont region, agricultural). The main character is the son of the pastor of a small, non-denominational church that I figure would have heavy Southern Baptist leanings. (There are a lot of Free Will Baptist churches in the region that inspires the novel, but I haven't really decided if this church is Reformed or Free Will... I don't think it really matters in the scope of the novel.) I attend a non-denominational church with a contemporary service, so my experience in these matters is somewhat limited. I've got a publisher interested in this novel, so I really want to make sure I get this right. I'm writing a scene that takes place on Easter Sunday. I don't need to get real specific about the entire service, but I need some realistic details. So I was hoping someone could help me out.

This is for a traditional service, and many members of the congregation are elderly.

I'm assuming communion is served... could you tell me exactly how that happens? What kind of prayer? Are the wafers handed out individually and is there a saying that goes with that? (I attended an Episcopal church for a short time where they did this.) Same with the drink? Grape juice or wine?

Are there flowers on the altar? Is there likely to be an altar call?

Does the minister wear a special robe? Are there additional special decorations in the church?

Is there a specific hymn that is always sung on Easter Sunday (even if you recall one that is sung a lot, it would help to include it)?

Any other traditional parts of the service you can recall would be very helpful. I might change things just a little, since the church in the novel is non-denominational, but I really want to portray a traditional service.

Thanks for any help you can give!

God bless,
Diana

Menno, that helps a lot! Especially the hymn. Thank you very much!

Does anyone else know if there is some special way of handing out the bread and grape juice? Is there a saying that goes with it?

(Episcopals say, "The body of Christ, the bread of heaven; the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.")

Thanks!

God bless,
Diana

Yes, in the Episcopal church the people go forward and kneel at the altar to receive the bread and wine (wafer and real wine).

Okay... so that's one detail I have to change! The congregants stay in their seats. Who is it that hands out the bread and juice? Church elders? The pastor? Other members of the congregation?

Thanks so very much!
Diana

Forjesus... Wow. That's beautiful! I'm not sure the footwashing will work for what I need to show in this particular scene, but I can just imagine how moving that would be.

I'm going to tighten up a couple of things, based on what you've just told me, then I'll post the scene here. It doesn't describe the entire service (my teenaged readers would probably get bored with that much detail), and the focus is on one character, and how he is beginning to realize that he has a problem, spiritually. Prior to this he has thought that his problem was a batting slump (he's a baseball player in high school).

Anyway, if anything jumps out that is a great big glaring no-no, please someone please let me know!

Thanks Forjesus and Menno!

God bless,
Diana

Here's the scene I've written. Randy is the seventeen-year-old son of a pastor. His father serves a very small, rural, non-denominational church that has traditional Baptist leanings. Randy is a baseball player on his high school team, but he is in a batting slump, and is realizing that he doesn't have what it takes to get into a good college team or the minor leagues. Trouble is, he doesn't have a backup plan. In this scene, he is beginning to realize that his real problem is deeper than that.

Martin is Randy's brother. The other people mentioned are church members or people on the worship team.

The service doesn't have to be completely described, nor exactly like a Baptist Easter service, but I want it to feel genuine.

If anything doesn't look right, I'd appreciate it very much if someone could let me know! I've been asked by a publisher to make revisions to the novel, so that's a possible step toward publication. The novel is intended to be read by high school aged teens.

God bless,
Diana

*******************

Randy remembered hearing someone ask his father once why his Easter message was almost the same, year after year. Dad answered it was because the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ was the most important message of all, and people needed to hear it over and over again. Sitting in church, breathing in the scent of flowers on the altar, Mom’s corsage, and nosegays tucked into old ladies’ Easter bonnets, hearing the same message, Randy found himself nodding off. He jerked his head up and wondered if some change in the delivery might be a good thing.


Then he wondered if it would make any difference at all for him. He’d been doing a lot of thinking, like Coach Abernathy told him to do. Last night he lay awake, trying to put the pieces of his life together and create a picture of what it was that kept him from doing what he truly wanted to do. And then they had gotten up much earlier than normal that morning for to prepare for the sunrise worship service. Sleep deprivation ruled out.


Jesus came to earth, God incarnate, and gave everything he had to give, and prayed for the forgiveness of those who hurt him, and then overcame death to rise again… so Randy Fowler could have eternal life. That was the message Dad preached. He named people in the congregation… “Camilla Banks, God loves you so much that he sent Jesus to die for you. Walter Greenlee, God loves you so much that he sent Jesus to die for you. Kathleen Parsons…” Not every person in the congregation, but so many that the point was driven home for all. It was moving, if Randy could judge by the raised hands and the murmured praises and the wavering sobs of gratitude.


Was there a catch in Dad’s voice when he looked down at Randy and inserted his name in the phrase? During the week Randy had tried to explain his dilemma to his father.


“Work harder,” Dad had said. “But…”


Randy only half listened after the “But.” Dad didn’t understand and Randy couldn’t find the right words. Better not to say anything at all and work it out by himself. He supposed Dad felt the awkwardness too, and was concerned.


Randy drew a deep breath. Roses, carnations, and Easter lilies. The air seemed to stick in his throat.


When Dad had spoken enough names, he invited people to come to the altar to pray, lay down their burdens, ask Christ into their lives. At the same time, those who chose not to come forward could pray at their seats. And it was generally good manners to lower one’s head to be courteous to those who were going forward. Randy lowered his head while Chuck played softly on the acoustic guitar he had used at the beginning of the service.


When the music ended and people were back in their seats, Dad began a communion prayer, which was Randy’s cue. Calmly he and Martin stood and went to the altar, where two other men of the church joined them. They took trays of bread and little cups of juice, and delivered them, row by row, to the members of the congregation. When everyone had been served, they went back to their seats, and Dad read from the Scriptures.


“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, ‘Take and eat; this is my body.’”


Randy placed a little cube of bread upon his tongue. It was dry; it seemed to have very little taste. Though he chewed slowly, it was soon gone. There was something wrong about that, he thought. He should be feeling something more.


Lord?


“Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, ‘Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.’


The juice was sweet, just a mouthful, and it washed away tiny crumbs of bread.


Randy felt nothing.


And then he felt something. Fear.


He looked at Martin, who was smiling. Mom was smiling too. Randy glanced over his shoulder. In the pew behind him, Mrs. Henderson touched her slender fingers to the jeweled cross at the base of her neck, her eyes closed. Next to her, Mr. Henderson sat with his head bowed, toying with the little plastic cup, now empty. Randy looked up at his father, who was setting his empty cup on a tray. Dad returned to the podium and said, “Let us worship the Lord in song.”


Mrs. Winthrop went to the piano and played the introductory melody to Low in the Grave He Lay, and the congregation sang joyfully. Then Susie stood and sang How Great Thou Art.


Randy’s mother had been saying for a few years, ever since his voice had finished changing, that he could belt out a song when he wanted to. The song they were singing at that moment was one of her favorites. Toward the end of Susie’s rendition, he thought it would make Mom happy if he sang it loud, especially the chorus. Randy closed his eyes, not needing the hymnal for this one. His voice rose, drowning out Martin, who had not been blessed in the same way. Mom touched his hand lightly, showing her pleasure. Randy didn’t let up when the verse came around.


“And when I think that God, his Son not sparing,
Sent him to die, I scarce can take it in;
That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing,
He bled and died to take away--”


Randy’s voice stuck in his throat. His eyes burned. His chest constricted. He didn’t know why. He coughed softly to cover the fault, raising his hand to cover his mouth. Glancing at his mother, he grinned self-consciously. Susie finished the song without him.


Later on, when the service had ended and all the potluck food in the small fellowship hall had been devoured, and everyone had gone home to celebrate with their families, Randy had time alone to think about what had happened during church. He wondered if he was going crazy, getting paranoid, being afraid when there wasn’t any reason to. He didn’t think that was it, though. Coach Abernathy’s words came back to him.


"I know how much you love this game, but the other stuff, like God, family, and school, those things have to come first. If your priorities are all jumbled up, you’re not going to do anything well."


Was that it?


He couldn’t remember exactly when he started feeling bored in church, not paying much attention, even going through the motions. He hadn’t worried about it before. He’d been baptized and knew where he stood with God. He believed! So…?


Maybe it wasn’t enough.

Thanks for your help!

Forjesus, I just might take you up on that! In the meantime, your prayers mean more to me than I can say. I just know the Lord's hand has beern on this project, and that's often a humbling thing. I really want to get it right.

God bless, y'all!

Diana

Thanks, Mike!

Did you happen to glance over the piece that I have written? I'd appreciate it if you could let me know if there is anything glaringly wrong with it. (Remember, though, this is as non-denominational church with Baptist leanings, so it doesn't have to be exact... I just want it to be genuine.)

God bless,
Diana