I have rarely willingly gone to a church service in my life, and I hadn’t originally planned to go to this one, no matter the occasion. But I woke up early enough that, by the time the rest of the gang was ready to go (most of our class attended), I was ready too, so figured I might as well go along. And I’m glad I did. The music was beautiful, with a combined chorus of present and former Woodstockers conducted by Vance George. (One area where Protestants definitely have it over Catholics: in the (very few) Catholic masses I’ve attended in Italy, the congregation rarely gets a chance to sing, and doesn’t know how.)
By the end of Bob Alter’s sermon, there probably wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Me, I bawled my eyes out, in part because he suddenly reminded me of my recently-deceased (and much-loved) father-in-law, Mauro. But, discussing it afterwards with Sharon, she pointed out another reason: Bob has long been a father figure for many of us, and the realization that he won’t be with us forever is a hard blow. Something of the heart will go out of Woodstock when Bob goes.
