“I’m fine. Heard a wonderful Bach fugue played on a big pipe organ at church yesterday, and it put me up for at least a couple of days.” That’s what I told this friend who called just to say hello.

So all day long I’ve been thinking about worship and how it sometimes gets into my bloodstream and causes me to tremble with happiness. The thing that thrills me about worship and keeps me coming back, I decided, is surprise.

I’ll tell you this: The ritual on Sunday can get boring. For the most part, congregations sing about 100 hymns all during the year. That’s the truth — out of all those hymns in the big, fat song book — only about 100 of them are singable. So year after year, the same 100 hymns are sung, four each Sunday morning, through all eternity.

And if a preacher or a song leader should try to teach a new hymn, there is scant cooperation, and the new hymn generally bombs miserably. And even worse is the teaching of a new liturgy or a new structure that might surprise someone. Because people just don’t want anything to change on Sunday morning.

But I do want some innovation on Sundays. It has become such boredom to always face the same sequence of liturgical events that I almost cry out for something to change.

First we pray, then we sing, and finally the sermon happens — and by that time the entire congregation has slipped into an open-eyed doze.

Well, a good example is last Sunday at my church. Normally we have a band up front playing twangy music and drawing us into a retro Christianity that existed in the 1930s or 1940s — electrified Hank Williams hymnody. We all like this music a lot.

But Sunday, I settled into a pew and saw a fellow sitting at the great big pipe organ and looking as if he could play a tune. This interested me because it had been almost two years since I had heard the old pipe organ played.

The band played, there was a fine guest artist, and we sang and prayed. The excellent sermon wasn’t a surprise at this church. And finally, at the very end of worship, this fellow began playing the Bach number.

It was such a delightful change that not one person in the sanctuary moved a muscle. We were free to leave, go to our homes and spend a quiet evening, but no one moved. And then at the end, the organist received a strong ovation.

It was one of those moments we will remember for a long time, and it happened in church while the people were still in a worshiping mood.

So I was wondering what would happen if a congregation planted a labyrinth out in front of the church and had people walking and meditating there as folks approached the church. That would be a neat surprise.

Then, would it be a deepening experience if the labyrinth could be available every Sunday before and after worship?

Or what if a congregation set up meditation chambers — sort of like American Indian sweat lodges and invited people to begin their worship on Saturday evening with a quiet 20 minutes of prayer or meditation or even just a bit of silence in a noisy world?

I just wish churches would try to do something on Sunday that would paste a smile on the faces of parishioners.

I’m thinking it might be fun to have a brass band playing jazzy religious music as parishioners arrived for worship. Or what if the congregational leaders formed a quartet and sang old-time hymns before or after service on the steps of the building? One little church had a lone flutist playing a tune before worship, outside on the corner. Nobody wanted to go inside. They stood on the steps and listened with grinning devotion.

These little surprises are magical things, and it does not take much imagination to create a few for the worship hour.

The only caution I have is for preachers. You must not make surprises the status quo because people will come to expect a jolt every week and then, of course, those little magical moments will no longer be surprises.

But brother and sister, I will tell you this: A little creativity on Sunday sure feels good.

Clark D. Morphew