This holiday season I went seeking Holy Communion --- and a little Advent respite --- when, lo and behold, I literally stumbled into the Messiah.

It was a cold Sunday evening for balmy South Carolina and I was running late for the 6 p.m. worship service at the local cathedral. In the last-minute rush, I decided to ignore weather predictions of 25-mile-per-hour winds, which left me shivering in the thin jacket slung over my shoulders.

I had my schedule in my head:

Go to church. Stop by a Christmas party. Race to my parents' home to check on my stepmother and my father who is slowly sinking into the abyss of Alzheimer's. Race back to my home and check on my husband, who is recuperating from reconstructive foot surgery.

Somewhere in that loaded list I thought I might find Advent, the church's intentional, reflective four-week pause before Christmas.

At the cathedral, I zipped into a parking space and sprinted towards the chapel, stopping only when I realized there were no lights on.

"Rats!" I thought. No lights. Must mean the service is in the new hall. I don't even know if I know where that is.

So I went back to my car, switched on the engine and prepared to bail on the worship for which I'd come. But I really wanted to go to church. I really wanted to slow down. I really wanted to worship --- even if it meant skulking into a crowded service in front of people who plan their Advent pauses better than I.

So I turned the car off, slipped back into my jacket and prepared to observe Advent. At least that's what I thought I was would be doing.

I made my way upstairs. I heard music --- beautiful music --- but no liturgy. I slipped into the hall, filled with several hundred people and took a back row seat.

I quickly realized I wasn't where I'd planned to be.

There were musicians playing violins down front. I recognized a friend from the cathedral choir, clustered with other adults behind the musicians. Younger choristers sang in bell-like voices from the hall's side balconies.

Soon I was in a land of aural enchantment. Surrounded by beautiful voices and lilting melodies, I relaxed. My breathing turned rhythmic. My heart beat slowed. Then the words began to sink in.

"'Twas in the moon of wintertime, when all the birds had fled, that God the Lord of all the earth sent angel choirs instead..."

Then, "Arise, shine.... the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee."

Finally, the famous "Unto us a child is born" and "He shall reign forever and ever" from Handel's majestic "Messiah."

I never did get to a church service, per se. I never received consecrated bread and wine. But I did slow down. I did reflect. I did pause. I found Advent and stumbled into the real messiah.

Cecile S. Holmes, longtime religion writer, is an associate professor of journalism at the University of South Carolina.