It’s a good thing there was a full day between the two celebrations of Holy Eucharist on Tuesday. Had there not been – had I not come up slowly from the lows of the morning Convention Eucharist to the highs of the evening’s “U2charist” – I think I might have gotten a case of the spiritual bends.

Although both were Episcopal services, the two celebrations could not have been more different--in tone, energy level and impact.

First, the morning Eucharist: Maybe I’d accidentally dumped decaf into my hotel room coffeemaker and just hadn’t woken up yet; maybe I was overwhelmed from trying to navigate the maze-like Convention Center; maybe it’s just that I’m becoming one of those grumpy old lifelong Episcopalians who kvetch about innovations in liturgy…but the opening Eucharist struck me as impersonal, self-conscious and uninspiring.

In fairness to the organizers, it’s not easy to create a sense of intimacy in a cavernous convention center, but they tried. The “visual prelude” projected on the Jumbotron screens and the gorgeous art displayed throughout the service not only brought beauty and dignity to the gathering, but also managed to make the setting feel a bit like home. Having everyone sit at round tables, instead of in theater-style seating, also broke the room into more manageable, intimate space.

But alas, those same round tables have another purpose. Am I the only one who finds it painfully self-conscious to put “sermon and table conversation” into the same liturgical moment? Have I just grown weary of “breaking into small groups” or is there something primal and powerful when we’re allowed to simply listen to a sermon, free from the need to instantly “process” or otherwise talk about it?

But I didn’t realize how uninspiring the morning’s service was until I attended the evening’s “U2charist.” The irony is that “U2-charists” are described as “modern” “creative,” and “nontraditional” but the evening liturgy was, except for the Prayers of the People, straight out of the Book of Common Prayer. I heard God referred to as “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit;” I knew all the responses by heart; we even confessed our sins. There’s just something hospitable about that.

As for the sermons: In the morning, Presiding Bishop Griswold had gently invited us not to be “driven by urgencies of which we are unconscious,” and quoted Bernard of Clairvaux in his admonition to read both the Book of Scripture and the Book of Experience. In the evening, Bishop Michael Curry of North Carolina shouted, “the Lord didn’t put you here just to consume oxygen,” and quoted Bono in his admonition to eradicate global poverty.

The evening service wasn’t perfect. Some say the announcements went on too long and were too political. But I left the service deeply touched, outwardly focused, and inspired to serve.

If that’s what liturgies are supposed to do, the day ended better than it started.