Introduction

I sat through 4 hours of church this morning -- 1.5 at my own little Episcopal church at the center of town, then another 2.5 at a large church out of town where my brother-in-law is the associate pastor. For someone who has been avoiding church (without any direct intent to stop attending, but with amazing success nevertheless), this should have been enough to "do me" for the rest of the summer. Instead, 3 hours later, I find myself energized and continuing to ponder all the ideas and impressions that invaded those 4 hours. I need to write some of this down, to try to make sense of the direction I am headed. Hence, my new blog. I hope to make this a weekly event.

So, here goes...

My little Episcopal Church is the church I've always dreamed of attending, and have only recently found. It's just steps from my front door in the center of town; a small friendly community that rushed to include me and really needs my participation. There was once a popular Christian song that extolled "Walking to church on a Sunday morning." That neighborly activity epitomizes for me that essential social fabric of church and family in the community that is so uniquely small-town America. This church is it! The people are delightful, and it's small enough that one sees individual people, not a "congregation." There aren't enough of them to disappear into a crowd, nor enough for them to be nonplussed by a visitor. Yet, they keep up a full schedule of worship and activities and seem truly close and caring. (Actually, it's so small they have only a permanent deacon and are in danger of closing. I really hope they don't!)

My problem (you knew there would be a fly in the ointment, I suppose?) is that they don't know yet that I am married to another woman. That might not be a problem in other dioceses, the Episcopal Church being what it is. But, I am not in just any diocese. I'm in one of the extra-super-conservative-always-threatening-to-leave-the-communion dioceses that liberal Episcopalians cringe to think about. This is only the 2nd or 3rd time I've been to this church, and yes, I've mentioned my partner as "she" when talking about family, jobs, home, etc. But I don't believe it's registered yet, or gotten to the Deacon-in-Charge. My partner and I maintain separate residences for work reasons, so she's not here with me all that often. I don't know what they will think of me when the details of my "lesbian lifestyle," or (potentially worse!) my extreme liberal theological leanings, become obvious. Sometimes I worry about it, because I've fallen in love with the place.

There is also uncertainty with my sister and brother-in-law's church. They are conservative, evangelical, and what we "frozen chosen" (nickname for Episcopalians, for the non-initiated) often call "happy-clappy." (That is, they don't feel the need to bathe themselves in the great musical repertoire of the Anglican tradition!) I already know that they have pretty much black and white views of appropriate human sexuality, as well as a whole host of other topics where I see multiple shades of gray. I have good friends there and love my family, so I go occasionally to see people and say hello. My partner pretty much refuses to go, and who can blame her? Today there was a special guest singer/preacher whose apparent signature ministry is an ability to divine what's on people's hearts and pray for them with laying on of hands. So, at the end of the service people lined up (LOTS of people lined up -- it reminded me of Amma on a hugging tour) for him to lay on his hands and pray for them.

And we are finally getting to the point of this post...

Ordinarily both church situations I experienced today would have made me a bit nervous -- first, wondering how the people in my little church would ultimately receive me, or if they might even ask me to leave. Second, wondering how many people in my sister's church would question the legitimacy of my version of Christianity. But today I felt wonderfully comfortable in both places -- truly! Instead of thinking about me this time (No matter how many times I tell myself "it's not all about you," I still tend to my thoughts revolving around myself!), I was thinking about my understanding of God as the sum total of the universe (creator, sustainer, integrator--all those good words and then some) together with my tradition's historical understanding of God as person. In trying to reconcile what seems an impersonal force of the universe itself with a personal God, I remembered that relationship is quite possibly the most essential factor that we look to for our sense of meaning and value. We crave relationship so deeply that virtually all traditions in some way equate God with love or compassion. So, why do I find it so surprising that our spirit, which craves being in relationship, seeks to be in relationship to the ultimate reality or ultimate spirit? It is no wonder that my tradition and so many others, then, defines the ultimate in terms of the personal. And, if I don't, myself, think of an Old Man with a White Beard who bends his physical ear to listen to our prayers, I can still feel at one with that craving for relationship and community that animates those of my tradition who do hold that image.

Today I just simply basked in that shared spiritual drive for relationship -- in my little church "where everyone knows your name" and in my sister's big church where everyone wanted to be prayed for. In fact, during the hour or so that the itinerant preacher prayed for each one who came forward, I found myself honestly reveling in his ability to see and touch each one and connect in a way that made each feel infinitely valued. So what if I don't hold exactly the same interpretation of events? He seemed no charlatan, but a truly caring person skilled and schooled in a love that can encompass so many without being fake or forced. I found myself thinking of Aaron and Hur holding up the arms of Moses in the battle for the defeat of Amalek (Exodus 17). I don't know if I can honestly say that I pray anymore, because I'm not sure what prayer is when God is not the Old Man referenced above, but I do try to join my energy to the energy of the universe when it seems right. I sent my energy today into that little Episcopal community, and I also sent my energy to hold up the arms of this itinerant preacher, so he wouldn't faint until every last person who lined up before him felt loved and valued.