In the cycle of seasons, spring hasn't quite arrived yet according to the calendar, but there's spring in the air at times, and according to the church calendar, it's time for Lent (a term based on words for spring).

I'd been reminding myself to stay after the Sunday service to help change the colored hangings on the altar, pulpit and lectern. We use a purple set for Lent. What I'd forgotten was that they were due to be changed the previous Sunday also, from green to white. I hadn’t stayed that morning.

Someone else took care of the change, though. When I walked into church on a dark, rainy Saturday afternoon, I noticed the white paraments immediately. The hymns I'd come to practice indicated that we'd be observing Transfiguration Sunday, and the white cloths fit with that theme.

One of the regular readings for the day tells about Jesus taking three disciples up a mountain where they could be alone. Typically, Jesus sought strength in prayer; the disciples slept. It wasn’t just a peaceful retreat, however. Jesus’ appearance changed, or was transfigured, so that his face was bright like the sun and his clothes became dazzling white.

One disciple was so impressed with what he saw that he suggested they should stay up there, but Jesus hadn't finished his mission yet, including his death. They had to come back down.

After the service focusing on that mountaintop experience, there was a meeting of the congregation’s voters about local down-to-earth business.

Meanwhile, up in the balcony, I had music books to put away and new music to set out for the next service. Those altar cloths needed to be changed again, too, but I planned to work on that later, in order not to disturb the group downstairs.

Eventually I finished taking care of the details upstairs. Voices continued below, so I spent some time rereading the sermon manuscript about the mountaintop experience. I also started making notes about things I wanted to do. I had thought the meeting would be shorter, but I enjoyed having an excuse to just sit quietly for a while before moving on with a busy weekend. When I’d estimated the hours needed for afternoon and evening projects, I didn’t think there would be any free time for the remainder of the day.

Time passed as I watched the sunshine, which had started to come through the side windows during the service. The light was constantly changing — sometimes dimmer, then suddenly brighter, as clouds alternately veiled and revealed the sun. It appeared that the wind outside was blowing waves of light toward the colored glass.

I thought about the huge stained-glass windows in the country church where I grew up. One was a picture similar to the window in the chancel ahead of me.

As the meeting continued, I thought of how we used to wait after Lenten services because my dad directed a choir that rehearsed afterward. Sometimes I'd entertain myself by walking up and down the hall while the singers practiced in one of the classrooms. Sometimes we'd wait in the car — cold but laughing, too, at how our teeth chattered as we shivered.

In the church balcony that wasn't a problem. The heat definitely rises, so there's good reason for the ceiling fans to keep up their busy whirling. Sometimes at the organ bench I'd rather not see them. If I'm a little nervous, things are already in a minor whirl, with the organ speaker vibrating, the microphone transmission in my ears, and the height difference as I glance beyond the balcony railing at the people down below. Tall books on the music rack help block out the motion and stabilize the view. After the service, though, with everything relaxed, I didn't pay much attention to such things.

Then, someone in the hall must have turned off the dials controlling the fans. I didn't notice until the fan closest to the balcony had slowed down considerably. Instead of seeing a blur of movement, I watched the five blades, brown ones, slowly rotating in perfect symmetry. Ahead of that, the other fans continued to turn, but not as fast as before. It took a while before they ran out of energy.

At slow speed, they were fascinating to watch. They even illustrated a word that sounds like Lent: lentando, for music that gradually slows down. I thought of merry-go-rounds in slow motion or dancers or birds. Finally they stopped, poised for the next flight.

By the time the meeting also wound down, I'd had as much time as I wanted to rest, and I’d even made peace with the fans. I came down from the balcony thoroughly refreshed.