Despite the Heat It'll Be All Right

Church doors on E. 22nd Street

It was hot (h-o-t) at church on Sunday. Well, it was hot everywhere in the city, but it seemed especially so in the un-airconditioned auditorium where my church meets. As I had to be there early (to help set up) and stay a little bit afterwards (to help break down), it made for a very sticky 2.5 hours. I picked a seat strategically near a fan and sipped on iced coffee during the sermon. I have summer strategies, you see.

During the passing of the peace (mid-service) I stood in a group of four, as we talked idly about the heat and fanned ourselves with our church bulletins. I always feel very “southern lady” when I fan myself with a church bulletin.

And I am always reminded of that line from To Kill A Mockingbird, comparing southern ladies in the summer to “soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.” I don’t know what it is about that line, but it’s been lodged in my brain since seventh-grade English class. I guess it just paints a good and true picture. (Also, I love alliteration.)

Towards the end of the service it was time to take communion, so I peeled myself off my chair and went forward to help serve. Our church is small, so I know a fair percentage of peoples' names. As people came forward, I extended the communion cup towards them, personalizing the offering when I could: "Lou, the blood of Christ, shed for you." and "Sue, the blood of Christ, shed for you." and so on. Extend the cup, let them drink, receive the cup back, repeat.

After awhile, Max approached. I would say that he 'walked,' but Max never seems to just 'walk.' He is a singer and a dancer and an artist - he ‘moves,’ he is ‘in motion,’ but he never just ‘walks.’

After receiving the communion bread first, he moved in front of me. I extended the cup towards him and said, "Max, the blood of Christ, shed for you."

He took the cup from me, and paused. "Really?" he asked.

I wasn’t expecting a question. I’ve never before gotten a question when serving communion. Just extend, drink, receive, repeat. But Max wasn’t on auto-pilot on that sticky hot Sunday. He may have been in motion, but he wasn’t just going through the motions. I had said weighty words, and he was about to do a weighty thing, this taking of communion. So he paused and asked that important question.

And I smiled and answered, "Yes, really."

Because - yes. Really. The blood of Christ, shed for you.

That's Life

Iron Gate on W. 80th Street

Oh, the weekend...

Friday tried my heart in ways it hasn't been tried in awhile.

I took Saturday to recover, to go for a walk, to sit quietly, to let sweet friends tell me I was brave and strong, to let that sink in and repair what was broken.

I watched as God opened up new avenues for closer friendships, opportunities to share our hearts - joys and sorrows - with one another. I was hurting because I was alone, but I was happy because I was not alone, if you follow.

Sunday morning started at a communal table in the West Village, drinking coffee out of bowls and eating breakfast with my Thursday morning girls.  We were celebrating the fact that one of us was about to take the plunge and officially become a member of our church congregation. She was already family to us - the membership process more of a formality - but such a happy and meaningful formality nonetheless. Certainly worth celebrating with coffee in bowls.

I looked around, as we sat in a circle, and thought about what we each brought (metaphorically) to the table.  The struggles and the successes. Stories of our pasts and hopes for our future.  All so broken and all so beautiful.

Later at church we stood and sang "For All The Saints."  My heart was still achy, but also full.  That particular hymn has potential to make me cry on any day. But this weekend?  Forgetaboutit.  Tears were inevitable. I wasn't quite sure, though, if they were happy or sad tears.  I think there were some of both, thanksgiving mingled with loss, sweet and salty together.

I thought, "If I have to pick a theme for this weekend, it would be 'hemmed in.'  I feel hemmed in."  Sometimes that 'hemming in' felt negative - like a wall, a barrier between me and what I wanted.  But it also felt positive - like protection and provision.

Good and bad, sweet and salty, happy and sad, hand in hand. That was my weekend.  That's life, I think, no?

Not In Vain

At the Reservoir

I was in a terrible mood on Sunday.

I woke up feeling okay, but soon thereafter came to inhabit a general state of grumpiness. Which then declined to cantankerous crankiness. And by the time I was half-way to church, I realized I was downright mad at the world.

The train I was riding on went out of service (of course it did), so I waited impatiently on the subway platform for the next train. I stewed and fumed and tapped my foot. I flipped through nearly every song on my iPod, trying to find one that would make me feel better, but none of them did. None of them. Not Frank, not Van, not anything. Nothing. Was. Right. Not on my iPod, not in my life, not in the world.

I caught myself thinking despairing “Why God, Why?” thoughts – Why does my life look the way it does? Why are there volcanoes and why is there injustice? Why does this subway platform smell so bad, and where the hell heck is the damn dang train?

As I was already running late (really late), I considered ditching church entirely. I was in a terrible mood, after all. Maybe too terrible to be around people. Maybe what I needed instead was to take myself to a coffee shop, sit quietly with a book or my journal and just calm down. Do church alone this morning.

But then I figured I had come this far already, and I remembered there was a meeting after the service I needed to attend, so when the damn dang train finally arrived, I got on. And went to church.

I arrived in time to sing a favorite hymn, with a stanza that spoke loudly to me:

"O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be."

I sat with friends and hugged them, I was challenged by the sermon, I took communion. Afterwards I went to brunch with said friends, and as we shared our stories over pancakes, potatoes and coffee, I felt listened to. Understood. Cared for.

My problems weren’t fixed. The world – still messy. My attitude about it – not 100% improved.

But I felt connected, and that helped.

That helped a lot.

Meeting Together

"The love of our neighbor in all its fullness simply means being able to say, 'What are you going through?'" -Simone Weil

I'm in full-on retrospecting mode this week. And as I've reflected on the events and happenings of 2009, I've come to the conclusion that I owe a big debt of gratitude to my Thursday morning girls.
In January, when I had to make a difficult choice and deal with the outcome, they hugged me and told me I was brave and strong. I believed them, and then I was brave and strong.
When I was prone to self-criticism and doubt, their affirmations bolstered me. When I brought the same issues to the table week after week, they never told me to get my act together. Their patience helped me have patience with myself, and reminded me that God shows patience to me as well.
When I leaped over hard hurdles, they cheered for me. When I said I needed to take a break from the hurdles, they assured me that was ok, too. When I moved in April, they showed up to unload boxes, make my bed, and settle me into the new apartment. When I broke my foot in June, they drove me to the grocery store.
One rainy day in September, during an especially trying week, an angel in yellow galoshes surprised me at my office, bringing with her a care package of fun snacks, a Vanity Fair, and a bottle of Scotch. Her care and concern carried me through that week.
Time after time after time this year, text messages/emails/phone calls from these sweet girls all arrived at the moments when I most needed them. "We're thinking of you," they said, "And we know you can get through this." I believed them, and I got through it.
Donald Miller remarked once in an interview, "Surrounding ourselves by communities of people who affirm a positive identity is the way to change." Upon hearing that, I thought, "Aha! That's exactly what my community has done for me this year!"
They affirmed my God-given identity, and they spoke God's truth to me. And slowly, slowly, I believed them. And then stepped up to inhabit that identity and believe that truth.
And so, as the year draws to a close, I want to acknowledge how blown away, humbled, and grateful I am for this group. Their love has not left me unchanged.

For All The Saints

Docks at the 79th Street Boat Basin

I went for a walk yesterday morning through Riverside Park, took an inadvertant turn, crossed under a bridge, and ended up down next to the Hudson River. I love that I live so close to a large body of water.

I kept walking and (re) discovered something else I love: creaking docks. You know the sound that docks make as they're bounced by the river waves, bolts clinking and boards creaking? It's all very nautical and lulling. I suspended my stroll and just stopped to listen for several minutes.

Then I went home; then I went to church. And there I heard sounds even sweeter than creaking & clinking docks.

It was Membership Sunday, or Covenant Entrance Day, or whichever you prefer. Several people became members and our church family got a little bigger. They lined up along the stage and - aided by a few questions from our pastor - told the rest of the congregation a little something about themselves.

I loved hearing their stories, which were all unique, and all kind of...quirky? Which means they belong, they totally fit in our family, because we are nothing if not...quirky.

Two of the new members also got baptized during the service. I tried really hard not to cry during that part, but it was a losing battle.

[Three things never fail to make me cry: this Sesame Street song*, the ending of "Sleepless in Seattle," and adult baptisms. So beautiful.]

It was a sweet Sunday morning, and by the end of the church service my heart was pretty full for this quirky band of imperfect misfits, who are a perfect fit for me.

As we sang our closing hymn, I felt more tears welling. I reflected that many, many a Sunday morning had seen me standing there with tears in my eyes - but those had all been heart-achy tears. And my tears on this Sunday were overflowing joy for the sense of belonging that the church (both local and catholic) gives to me.

I was immensely grateful to feel that shift from heart-achy to joy. Thanks to God and my group of fellow misfits.

And a heart-felt welcome to our newest saints/misfits. I was glad to hear your stories as you stood up on stage; gladder still that I'll get to watch them unfold further as we "do life together." As they say.

I considered ending with an analogy between the creaking docks and the membership service, something about how we're the docks, and we're tied to one another, and sometimes we bump into each other and make noise (discord), but ultimately we keep each other from drifting away and out to sea. But I think that may be a stretch. And life doesn't usually fit into a neat little analogy. Life is messy.

So instead I'll end with someone else's words, and a vision of life beyond the messiness:

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day:
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His Way
Alleluia! Alleluia!

*I don't know why. I really don't. But tears are guaranteed, EVERY time.

Interviewing (Part 2)

In addition to interviewing for jobs, last week I had an interview of a different sort: a membership interview for my church here in NYC. Although I've attended several churches over the past few years, I never officially became a member of any of those congregations, so this is a new experience for me.

The interview was with one of the elders of the church who, in contrast to many of the HR people I've met with recently, did not make me feel inadequate and awkward. We had a great conversation over coffee about faith, my spiritual journey, the role of the church, the role of a church member, etc. Then he asked me a set of 5 questions dealing with basic tenets of Christianity, just to make sure my beliefs were not diametrically opposed to church doctrine or anything.

At all my recent job interviews, my answers to questions have felt canned and phoney - "Just looking for a position where I can utilize my administrative and organizational skills blah blah blah blech..." It was nice to be in a setting where I could answer truthfully and admit weaknesses, instead of trying to cover them up to impress my interviewer.

So, God willing, I will become a member at this Sunday's service. I find that I'm pretty excited about it; already I feel a sense of responsibility and ownership in the church that I didn't feel before. And though commitments usually freak me out, I find that committing to my member-ly duties (regular attendance, service, financial support, submitting to church discipline if necessary, etc.) actually brings me peace and, perhaps ironically but not surprisingly, a sense of freedom.

Though Advent began only just yesterday, I'm sensing that the theme of the season for me this year will be the concept of "home." And thus it seems quite fitting to formally adopt a church home during this time. Thinking of the church, both local and catholic, as home helps me understand the aforementioned sense of freedom: though one's home is often characterized by rules & structure, it is also often the place you feel most free to fully be yourself.