Paul Stookey — of Peter, Paul and Mary fame — wrote a beautiful wedding song for his friend Peter Yarrow’s wedding, which became known more popularly as “There Is Love.” In it, he repeats the refrain:

“Whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name, there is love.”

That song popped up as I was scrolling through YouTube the other day, and it reminded me — at this season of the Jewish High Holidays — of a Yom Kippur many years ago, when those lyrics proved true.

I was in my late teens, or perhaps 20-ish. My family had moved several years earlier from Manchester, New Hampshire, to the Washington, D.C. area; but I still had friends in Manchester, and we would visit back and forth from time to time.

On the year in question, I had decided to travel north to enjoy my favorite season — fall — with friends in the land of beautiful foliage and crisp autumn air. Marlene, the friend with whom I was staying, was (and still is) a devout Episcopalian, and invited me to join her at church on Sunday.

In all candor, her main purpose was to introduce me to her minister, fondly known to his parishioners as Father Bill, whom she described as “too cute to be true.” Now, how does one turn down an invitation like that?

So off we went, Marlene for her regular Sunday service, and I for a bit of religious education in another faith — not to mention a glimpse of the famous Father Bill.

And yes, he was every bit as adorable — both in looks and personality — as I had been led to believe. To make the day even more memorable, after a lovely service Father Bill accepted an invitation to lunch at Marlene’s parents’ home.

That would ordinarily have been the end of a pleasant, but not particularly interesting, story. But the next day, I phoned my mother in D.C. to let her know when I would be returning home, and she asked me if I had remembered that the previous day had been Yom Kippur.

Oops!

In fact, in all the hubbub of travel and getting together with my old friends, I had indeed forgotten. But I thought quickly, and fudged my answer by saying, “Yes, I know.” And she then asked, “I don’t suppose you went to services?”

Well, she didn’t say what services. So I was able to answer truthfully, “As a matter of fact, I did.”

She was surprised, to say the least, and couldn’t let it drop, asking where I had attended.

Busted!

So I replied honestly, “Grace Episcopal Church, with Marlene.”

Silence.

A little more silence.

And then, to my great surprise, she finally said, “Well, I guess any service is better than no service at all.”

It was many years later that Paul Stookey wrote his immortal lyrics, declaring that it doesn’t matter what edifice you’re in, or what language is being spoken.

“Whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name . . .”

My mother beat him to it; but he added the poetry and music.

*. *. *

This evening, for the first time in years, I will be attending Yom Kippur services at a local synagogue with my daughter. It is also the 35th anniversary of my mother’s passing, on Yom Kippur 1991 (September 18th that year).

She would still be surprised . . . but I know she would approve.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/20/26