Latin Mass in a Log Cabin

 

Three things you should never discuss, especially in the company of strangers:

 

1. Sex (uh oh)

2. Politics (crap)

3. Religion (well, shit.)

 

Yup. Not only do I love starting conversations with strangers about all of the above but I actually created a blog around one of the world's most controversial issues - religion. Ha! Then for fun I decided to make that blog brutally honest. For extra flavor I even threw in my thoughts about various social issues. To keep it interesting I invited my family (including parents and grandparents) and friends along for the ride never knowing they would share this blog and strangers from all over the world would be hearing my perspective on things that are supposed to remain unspoken.

 

What the hell was I thinking?

 

Actually, I don't think I was, thinking that is. I felt a calling to do this and to share it with you. That's as far as I thought it through. I simply trusted the rest to God/fate/the universe. I knew I would need a thick skin to write an honest depiction of my experiences at various churches/religious institutions and that people wouldn't always agree with me or like what I had to say. This is where growing up a fat kid who liked musical theatre comes in handy. See, my skin isn't just thick - it's bulletproof (I am ti-taaaa-niiiii-um). I am bound and determined to see this through to the end and I'll be doing it, as Frank Sinatra so brilliantly put, MY WAY. (Or mostly my way, as legal advice as frowned on me writing about any illegal activity. Those stories will have to be told in person. Perhaps around the campfire, eating s'mores and taking shots of tequila?)

 

Anyhoo..

 

So, this Sunday I went to Latin Mass in a log cabin. You heard me.  

                                             

In the year 1799 the smallpox vaccine was introduced, Congress standardized weights and measurements, New York abolished slavery and The Holy Family Parish Log Church was built in Cahokia, IL. It is one of the 5 remaining log churches in the United States and the oldest one west of the Allegheny Mountains. The whole place smelled like my great grandmother's house and reminded me of Silver Dollar City in Branson, MO with subtle hints of The Vatican.

I grew up Baptist and had minimal experience with Catholicism during my 30 years of life other than touring beautiful Catholic cathedrals across Europe. Actually, I don't recall ever attending a real-live Catholic service. This may have been my first. So, walking through the giant wood doors of the log church it dawned on me - Oh crap. I have no idea what to do.

Usually I research the churches I'm visiting along with any typical customs I should know about during my visit. If all else fails I rely on my excellent powers of observation and pick things up as I go along. This Sunday, however, my brain was just a wee bit foggy. Maybe it was all the colored powder I inhaled at The Color Run? Maybe it was the multiple raspberry lemonade champagne cocktails? Maybe it was the stick-n-poke tattoos? Maybe it was the smashing dishes on my kitchen floor with my friends?  Whatever the reason, I wasn't quite myself Sunday morning and probably couldn't have followed the hokey pokey if my life depended on it. Truthfully, it's amazing I even made it to church.

Right off the bat I screwed up. You are supposed to kneel before sitting down. Of course, I just plopped down on a pew like the heathen I am. Everyone else knelt, crossed themselves and then either remained kneeling or sat quietly in prayer. Then I noticed all the women wearing lace doily looking things on their heads. Veils they call them -an old tradition that pre-dates feminism and is not required, but is very much encouraged. I didn't even bother to wash my hair let alone cover my head. Dammit! And now I'm thinking curse words in church. Pretty sure I would be the worst Catholic ever.

Service begins...a man in a lace dress covered in a shiny gold bib walks out followed by a younger man in a "choir boy outfit" who is ringing bells and assisting with the various rituals that are happening. The priest keeps his back to the congregation and focuses all his attention on the alter. Raising things and saying things in Latin, sometimes whispering them and sometimes standing in silence. I learned later that during the silence we are supposed to reflect on the great mystery of the Sacrifice of the Cross. Oops. Keep in mild all this is happening in a log cabin with oil lamps hanging on the walls.

Alright. I just have to say this. I know how it sounds. BUT - Holy cow Catholics spend a lot of time on their knees! Sweet tacos! My knees got so tired. Those kneeling benches are not comfortable at all. Seriously, we spent probably two twenty minute periods on our knees. I tried sitting back, leaning against the pew in front of me, moving my knees apart and pushing them together. Nothing helped. The people behind me probably thought I was crazy, squirming around like a young child.

Though the majority of the service was in Latin, the sermon/message for the day was in English. The priest spoke about anger in very simple terms. I found it amusing that the rituals were so elaborate and fancy, but the message was quite simple and basic. At one point the priest actually said, "Perhaps when you are angry you can enjoy a calming activity like taking a walk in the park." Good idea!

 There are no instructions in Latin Mass. You either know what to do or you don't. When it was time for Communion no one announced anything. There was no speech about what was going to happen and who should participate. The priest did an elaborate blessing of the bread and wine then people just stood up and formed a line. I remained in my seat. I had already made it clear I was not Catholic through my many stumblings and I didn't want to do anything to ruin their sacred ritual. A few other people were not participating, so I wasn't alone. I watched as people knelt in front of the alter and waited patiently for the priest to place a little circle cracker dipped in wine-juice directly into their mouths.

There were more rituals. Then the congregation recited multiple prayers in unison - praying mostly to Mary. Sometimes I just kinda mumbled things to feel like part of the group. Then we gave an offering. Then we sang a song. Then we were done. I didn't kneel on my way out either. It would have been dishonest.

And that ladies and gentlemen, was the exciting tale of my experience with Latin Mass in a log church.

I have a brief reflection I would like to share with you.... (read or don't read. follow your heart.)

Rituals. Rituals are the glue that holds everything together. One year my mother suggested we skip our annual Christmas cookie baking extravaganza. The thought of it made me uneasy. No. We do it every year. You bake the cookies. We decorate them. We eat them. It's part of who we are. We have to do it! Every year! Until forever!  These small acts. These traditions we share. They are incredibly important. I wasn't upset because I just love my mother's Christmas cookies and enjoy the artistic release I get from decorating them. It was something much bigger that made me uneasy.
 I was afraid of losing a connection with my family - which in my mind is sacred.

Who would ever want to give up
this beautiful sacred ritual?

It's the same way in religion. Protestants, Catholics, Hindus, Buddhists - they all have elaborate rituals.  Many of these rituals have existed for literally thousands of years. In doing these rituals they not only connect to the past but believe they connect with the sacred - with God. What makes one group's rituals more valid than another?

I haven't felt much of a connection with the sacred during my witnessing of various church rituals on this journey. But I understand the motive and meaning behind them. It makes sense to me that there would be many different ways to help people connect to the sacred. I can't imagine every family bonds through cookie decorating - that's my family's deal. Yours is probably different, but still completely valid. The ritual is personal. It's what works best for you. It's the intention that is the same. We are all trying to find and maintain connection.
 

Metropolitan Community Church = God's Church

I've been looking for sometime now

For you

Whoever you are

I've wandered beautiful temples

Chanted and meditated

I've recited scriptures

Sang worship hymns with feeling

I've read bizarre books

Learned about aliens and past lives

I've waited in silence

Prayed and pondered

I've met with radicals and ministers and holy people

Still

I couldn't find you.

Couldn't see you.

Couldn't feel you.

Where are you hiding?

 

Then

Like a comedian

with perfect timing

Just as I am giving up

Ready to throw in the towel

Stop this ridiculousness

Then

I find you

Practically mid curse

I find you

I find you...

In a room packed with homosexuals

Of course.

 

 

Of course. Of course I would "find God" in a room packed with not just homosexuals, but homeless people and disabled people and transgendered people and people of all different races and ethnicities and people of all different sizes and haircuts and clothing choices. Of course this is where I would find God - in a room full of God's people.

 

(Sarah takes a step up onto her soapbox. She taps the microphone. Testing to make sure it's on. What she's about to say is important to her. She wants to be heard.)

 

I get so tired of people trying to limit God. Box him in - God doesn't like gays. God hates Republicans. God prefers blondes. God can only be found in the Christian church. Shut up fools! God loves everyone. E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E. Fucking deal with it. God is limitless. God loves smokers. God loves Muslims. God loves children and old people and rich people and poor people and black people and white people and fat people and skinny people and everywhere in between people. And though it may scare the crap out of you, God loves gay people - just the way they are. 

 

We, not God, like creating restrictions because it makes us, not God, feel good. We like to feel better than each other. We want God to like us best. We are all siblings fighting for God's favor. Love is hard to accept sometimes, because, well for me personally, I don't always feel worthy of it. I often think if I were prettier or thinner or kinder or less weird or made fewer mistakes in my life THEN, then I would be worthy of a person's love. But God is not limited by vanity or clouded by hatred. God has the ability to see something that we can't always see - our true beautiful selves. God created so many different, unique, unusual, wonderful people - why do we doubt God's ability to love them all?

 

Metropolitan Community Church in St. Louis ain't doubting God's ability to love all this children. Hell to the no. MCC is picking up where Jesus left off - welcoming all to God's table.

As I walked through the doors of MCC I found one of the greeters and asked for an information sheet. Christine introduced herself and immediately after learning of my first time visitor status whisked me around the church showing me the building and helping me meet new people. The building was alive with conversation and hugs and laughter and children running about. I was given information about the church and told how to get more. Christine offered to find me a friend to sit with, but I told her I would do alright on my own. I found my seat and took in my surroundings.

My first honest reaction was - Holy crap! There's a whole lotta gay in this place.  You can't always tell a book by it's cover, but when that book looks like woman with short poofy hair wearing straight legged acid washed jeans and a black blazer and is holding hands with a similarly dressed women then that book is probably gay. And it looked as though I landed smack dab in the middle of the GLBTQIA section of the bookstore. As I surveyed the room, I saw there was actually a wide variety of people - but still a strong gay presence.

Service started with contemporary worship songs. Everybody stood up. It was a slow start. A few people were clapping and even fewer people were singing. Then  music leader called out, "Come on everybody. Let's worship the Lord together!" Cheesy, but it worked. The singing and the clapping grew louder and louder until...everybody was worshiping the Lord together.

After songs and a brief prayer we stopped to say hello to our neighbors. A man in white jeans and a leather vest threw his arms around me and said "Good morning!" Other neighbors were a little less affectionate and offered handshakes and hellos.

Christine, the nice lady who greeted me, called all the children up for the children's sermon. Slowly, 15 darling little children approached the stairs with the littlest ones being guided by their parents. Oh, my dear blog readers, at the sight of this gathering of tiny people I burst into tears. (I am actually crying right now.) I'm not sure if I can fully explain my tears. I was moved by the love in the room. It's one thing to believe in something yourself, but it's another to involve your children. These children will be raised to believe God loves everyone and therefore loves them - gay, straight, transgender, homeless, disabled, black, white, whathaveyou. They will have grown up knowing these various types of people as their friends and church family. Seeing them all up there listening to Christine tell them a story about God's love overwhelmed me with love and hope for the future.
I just sat in my seat and cried.

This would not be the end of my crying...

MCC currently does not have a regular minister. They are in the process of finding one. In the meantime a woman named Amy has been providing sermons at the church. Usually the church has a person translating all the spoken words into sign language, but today that person was absent. Amy got up on stage and using sign language said  "My apologies. I am not very good at sign language. Thank you for your understanding." Yup. Started crying again. The thoughtfulness of these people moved me.

Amy's sermon was about.....spiritual journeys. (How fitting, eh?) She spoke not about trying to figure out where you've been and rehashing the past or even focusing on the future and where you want to go. Nope. Her sermon was about recognizing where you are in this very moment and accepting that God can meet you exactly where you are. You don't have to change for God to come to you. You don't have to make it to the end of the marathon before God will embrace you. God is with you the whole way, loving you, just as you are, and encouraging you to become the best you can be.

Tears started streaming down my face. I already knew this about God. That's not why I'm crying. I'm crying because so many people don't know this about God and have been taught just the opposite. They've been taught that God hates who they are and only if they change and repent can they be loved. Even churches with good intentions preach this message and it breaks my heart. They preach judgement. Judgement is not a life changing force, but love most certainly is.

I noticed on stage there were trays and gold cups. Oh no. Communion. Dammit. I was really enjoying this church. Please don't ruin it by saying something awful like "Sinners stay in your seats while we enjoy God's glory". Please. Please.

After the sermon a man in a delicious vintage mustard yellow "old man" cowl neck cardigan and 4 young children got on stage and stood behind the table where the Communion snacks were waiting. He explained the children were going to be assisting with Communion this Sunday, because all are priests of the Lord. There is no age requirement at the Lord's table. (Tears. Tears are streaming once again.) The man talked with the children about The Last Supper and why we uphold the tradition. He looked out to the congregation, smiled and said, "Wherever you are on your journey - you are welcome at this table. All are welcome at God's table. We want you here with us. We want to share this with you. Please, whatever you believe, join us." (Tissues and tears. Tissues and tears.)

The children helped guide the congregation row by row to come to the front and dip their cracker in the juice. Then cardigan man explained multiple areas where people were happily waiting to pray or talk with anyone who needed it. Communion at MCC was different than any I've ever experienced. This was not the organized silent process of my upbringing. Oh no, communion at MCC was messy and chaotic and loud and beautiful. People were talking and hugging eachother and SO many people were stopping to pray or offer a kind word. People were actually waiting in line to pray. Giant prayer circles started forming, taking up asile space. Everyone was up, roaming around, talking to their neighbor, getting their tiny rice circle dipped in juice and then enjoying hugs and kisses from their neighbors. After I got my cracker and juice I sat in my chair, watched the crowd and cried. There was so much love and life. It was so real and it took my breath away.

Once everyone settled down again, another man came on stage to make the offertory prayer. This big tall self-proclaimed "Illinois Farm Boy" with a hick accent and all got up and talked about how joining the church changed his life. He talked about how transformative the love he experienced there was for him. He marveled at all the children he saw there and how happy that made him. He basically summed up my thoughts and then he started crying. So, naturally I started bawling. He asked people to give what they could, knowing how much this place means to so many, but if they couldn't give money to contibute in some other way. I gave $5. It's the highest donation I give any church I visit.

At this point, I'm starting to do that cry thing where you make noise and can't breathe and I'm starting to panic because I don't want to make a scene but this church is just so beautiful and so full of love and I'm just so very very happy that I got to experience it that I cannot contain my tears.

Thank God, service is wrapping up. (Several balled up tissues are now sitting beside me and I look like the first time I saw Titanic.)

We sang a few more songs, prayed and were done, but no one was leaving. They were serving food and I was invited to stay around and meet more people, but I couldn't. I wanted to, but I knew what was about to happen. I walked as quickly as possible to my car - briefly saying goodbye to a few people before I left. I opened my car door, closed it, started the engine, drove off and cried and cried and cried.

It was a happy cry. I felt so full of love and joy and it came out through my tears. I thought about all the loves in my life and then I cried more. I thought about my beauitful friends Rachel and Russell who are getting ready to have their first child and I cried thinking about how much I already love that tiny human being and how he or she will grow up to know great great love.

If Jesus came back and started a church it would probably serve really great wine and it would probably look a lot like MCC. These people don't just talk the talk, they walk the walk. They greeted me. They welcomed me. They weren't afraid to show love to eachother, or to me, to a stranger. They are not afraid of differences, in fact, they embrace them and celebrate them. They preach love - not judgement and hate. These people are the closest I've ever seen to living out the message of Jesus Christ. This is their mission statement:

Our mission, as Metropolitan Community Church of Greater Saint Louis, is to accept, embody and declare God’s love for all.

Mission accomplished MCC. Well done. Keep the love coming!

Awakening: Adventures in Hinduism

You may or may not know this, but on Sunday I go to church. I spend, oh, up to 2 hours exploring whatever religious institution I've chosen for the day and then I go home and pretend it never happened. I don't spend much time thinking about it. I don't talk a lot about what I experienced. I don't make notes or write anything down. I go and then I put everything that happened in a box to open sometime on Monday when things are quiet at work. I've tried to write on Sundays, but I can't. I need a full day to process things. It's something I've learned about myself during this journey. So, when I'm writing, I'm Monday Sarah writing about Sunday Sarah's experiences. This hasn't created much of an issue....until today. You see, this week Monday Sarah is vastly different than Sunday Sarah.

Sunday Sarah:
Mood: Pleasant and positive
Weather: Sunshiny and gorgeous
Favorite Color: The orangey-red of the tulips growing in my neighborhood
Listening to: Kishi Bashi - Manchester
Activities: Church exploring, shopping, laying on a jelly lounger in the sunshine drinking wine, attending a fancy fundraiser and getting free booze, watching Christian Slater movies and swooning.
Motto: "Life is beautiful"

Monday Sarah:
Mood: Grouchy, irritable, weepy
Weather: Humid and raining
Favorite Color: The blackness of closed eyelids
Listening to: Screaming. Loud loud screaming.
Activities: Crying, doubling over in pain, cleaning spit off my leg, getting head banged in the chest repeatedly, feeling nauseous, staring off into space, sitting in the darkness
Motto: "Please kill me"

Funny how 24 hours can really change a person, eh?  And no, I'm not hungover.

With all that out in the open now....let us proceed.

This Sunday I journeyed to a far off place full of strange and unusual things - West St. Louis County (ba dum bum). Those of us (snobs) who proudly display their St. Louis CITY residences on their cars seldom journey to this far off place, but instead tease and torture people who do. There is a super hip store in the city that sells postcards, t-shirts and bumper stickers taunting County dwellers with fun sayings like "Friends don't let friends live in Chesterfield". I'm a city snob and proud to be. BUT I have to give the County it's due, because tucked away behind Whole Foods and rows of massive mansions is a remarkably beautiful and unusual building - The Hindu Temple of St. Louis.

I pulled into the parking lot on this exceptionally beautiful April Sunday morning and stood in awe of the intricate carvings covering the temple. I felt like I had stumbled into another world - like I had driven through some kind of portal and magically arrived in India. Much like someone who drove through a magical portal would be, I spent the rest of my time at the Hindu temple feeling incredibly confused and out of place but totally enthralled and excited.

Getting into the building was a challenge. There were dark rooms and stairs that led to nowhere. There were cars in the parking lot, but not a single person inside the building to tell me what to do. I stood in a hallway for a few minutes hoping someone would find me. A 10 year old boy came by and refused to speak to me - so I followed him, like a weirdo, until he told me what to do. He showed me a staircase and then ran away. A sign read "No video. No shoes". So, shoeless I walked up the stairs to yet another room devoid of people. I found myself in a large space where colorful deities rested silently in elaborately carved white wooden boxes. I stood in the doorway hoping someone, anyone, would come along and give me some clue as to what the hell was happening. Services are supposed to start at 9:00 am. It's 8:55! What the hell?

I thought seriously about leaving, but then finally a man in a white robe found me. "You're with the large group, yes?" he asked me in a quiet whispered voice. Um, I'm the only person here. What large group? "No, I came by myself." I whispered back as I smiled that humble smile that always gets me through any awkward situation. "Very good. Please, walk clockwise." was his reply and he handed me some information about the deities then pointed me in the direction of the where the Pooja (service) was being held.

Around the corner, I joined a man and a woman sitting quietly on the carpeted floor in front of the Sri Shiva shrine. Two robed men were preparing various materials and then seemingly out of nowhere one of them began to chant. Slowly, more and more people joined the service - bringing various offerings of fruits (bananas usually), jugs of milk and fresh flowers. Books of the chants were passed around, but seeing as how I am unable to read Sanskrit I just continued to sit quietly on the floor and tried to take it all in. While the group chanted one of the men performed a series of various rituals inside the shrine as offerings to the deity. He lit incense and candles, he rang bells, he poured water over the shrine, then milk, then butter, then honey, then alternated between milk and water and then bleach. This lasted for about 30 minutes and all the while we are chanting. Then the curtain of the shrine is closed and when it's reopened the flowers brought as offerings are revealed covering the shrine in a beautiful arrangement.

By this time there were about 30 people sitting in the small carpeted area chanting. My skin color and clothing style placed me in the minority - I was one of the few women not wearing a sari. Most of the men were in khakis and dress shirts, although a few had on robes. The chanting continued and then the group suddenly stood up. My legs were thrilled to no longer be in the crossed position. Then while chanting we turned in circles, clockwise of course, maybe 3 times. Don't ask me why. A man brought around a silver bowl of flowers. I watched as other people touched the bowl with both hands and then touched their faces. When it was my turn I did the same, again not knowing why. Napkins were then passed around. I took one, not knowing why. I watched other people accept a white liquid in their right hand, drink it and then clean their hands with the napkin. When it came my turn I cupped my left hand under my right just as everyone else had and drank what looked like milk with mangoes in it. It was delicious and sticky. Finally a flame was brought around and people gave money to cup their hands over the flame.

All this done to awaken the diety, but also to awaken the indwelling spirit - the god within.

You weren't allowed to take pictures. I snagged
this from their website.

After the service, I walked from shrine to shrine paying my respects to each of the deities. Each person near me had a different way of honoring the deity - adorning the shrine with flowers, offering money, leaving fruit, walking around the shrine, touching it in a special way, kneeling before it or doing a series of bows. Each person was different - but the meaning was the same. I just stood there. No need to pretend I have any deep connection with these deities, let alone any rituals or flowers to offer them. I looked at them and offered my respect for their beauty.

Hesitantly, I left the temple. I didn't want to go, but I didn't know what I would do if I stayed. I lingered in the parking lot for 20 minutes - taking pictures, walking around the building and watching people.

Back in the car I started on the path home, but found myself not wanting to go. So, I rolled down the windows and turned up the music and drove myself around St. Louis County taking in the sunshine and a feeling of freedom.

We must pause this blog for a breaking news story and an important realization...

While writing I learned, through facebook, of the bombing at The Boston Marathon. My heart sank, personally knowing someone running the race and having family members living in Boston. I felt sick and not just because of this horribly terrifying tragedy. I felt sick because of what I said earlier in the blog - the "please kill me" part. I could amend it and pretend I said something less awful. You wouldn't know any different, but the truth is that's what I went around thinking all day - "please kill me". I felt ashamed. True, I felt awful today. So awful I actually started crying. Still, that's no excuse. It's a horrible thing to say and today I was reminded of that. In hearing the news about Boston, something awoke in me - a reminder of how precious and uncertain life is. We seem to be getting these messages a lot lately. So, instead of moping around in pain and sorrow I took my ass outside and played soccer with my kids - teaching them how to knee the ball and hit it off their heads. We laughed. We got sweaty. It was awesome. Then we went to the garden and flipped over an old tree stump to examine all the amazingly disgusting creatures living underneath it. We took turns finding worms and tossing them into the garden boxes. My hands are still covered in dirt.

So, if you please, I would like to amend my Monday Sarah status...

Monday Sarah:
Mood: Grateful
Weather: Perfectly lovely
Favorite Color: The deep brown of the garden dirt
Listening to: The sounds of my children gleefully pulling a wagon full of weeds
Activities: Thinking about loved ones, reflecting on blessings, playing soccer, reading books, digging in the dirt, getting and giving hugs, being incredibly lucky, removing my foot from my mouth and my head from my ass
Motto: "This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it" coupled with "The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.”

I just don't even know what else to say.

 

Down the Rabbit Hole of Scientology

Alice started to her feet, for it flashed before her mind that she’d never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again. 
                             - from Lewis Carroll's book Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Scientology is a vast wonderland of exciting possibilities, potentially hazardous choices, fascinating characters and unusual scenarios. Aliens? Pastlives? Secret messages in my brain? Untapped potential? Cure my asthma? Tell me more, Scientology. Tell me more.

You know what they say though... curiosity killed the cat lady. 

“Something” didn’t want me to go down this rabbit hole. So,it wasn’t surprising that my drive was stunted by a marathon blocking literally every possible route to The Church of Scientology. Screw you universe. I WILL go to church this morning! Even if I have to fucking walk there! And walk I did. With considerable effort and somewhat illegal driving procedures, I found entry to a gated community near enough to the church, parked in the street and me and my cowgirl boots hightailed it to church
.

This is the only pic I took of the church.

Out of breath, I explained, “I’m here for…I was going to attend your service and I have an…I have an appointment.” A very tall midtwenties man in a dress shirt and tie directed me to the service on the second floor of the building. The door was opened for me in silence by another shirt and tie twenty something. A group of 15 people were sitting in folding chairs while a man at a podium was speaking. He stopped when I entered the room, looked up at me and said,  “Welcome.Please join us. I will speak to you after the service.” One of the attendees pulled a chair over for me and I joined in on their worship service.

For those of you who are interested in knowing more about how Scientologists worship I will give you a breakdown of their very complicated service: 

1st: There is a reading of their core values. (I missed this) 

2nd: They either watch a video or read a passage

3rd: Service is now over

This particular Sunday a passage was read from a book by L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of Scientology, called The Way to Happiness. The leader talked about the first step in achieving happiness - taking care of yourself. This was broken into 5 parts - get care when you are ill, bathe, brush your teeth, eat well, get rest. These are the people I was afraid of? People who need to be reminded to brush their teeth?! Classic. Service lasted 15 minutes, although I missed 5 of them. Cream puffs and water were served after. I didn't eat or drink anything.  

After the service the real adventure began. I met up with Donna, the woman who called me every night for 5 days until I rescheduled my appointment for my personality evaluation. We sat down at a desk and she pulled up my results...

So, a few weeks ago I filled out a 200 question personality test on The Church of Scientology's website. They call it the Oxford Capacity Analysis (OCA) though it has no affiliation with Oxford University. Most non-Scientologists disagree with the tests credibility and consider it a tool used to manipulate people into thinking they need Scientology's services - mainly auditing, the process where you can correct some (or all) of your unfortunate personality traits. 

Donna read my results from a sheet of paper starting with the most troublesome points. My biggest problem? Irresponsibility. According to the OCA I am irresponsible, act without thought and blame others for my problems. This does not pair well with my crippling aggression - which pushes people away from me. I am ruled by my emotions and my mood can change rapidly. My actions are often irrational and a direct result of my overpowering emotions. This is part of the reason I am unable to maintain a (romantic) relationship. I am anxious and do not relax easily. I am too critical, which most people find obnoxious. I am social, but not social enough. I am empathetic, but not enough. I am happy, but not happy enough. 

Naturally, Scientology could help me with all of it. 

About these results - they aren't entirely wrong. I wouldn't classify myself as someone who is irresponsible. I have a job. I pay my bills on time. I bought tickets to Lollapalooza instead of spending that money getting my car fixed. I keep dirty dishes in the refrigerator. Okay maybe there is some truth to that one after all. I have a temper that is rather vicious, but for the most part I keep it under control, I think. My emotions definitely rule me. No argument there. Relationships make me bat shit crazy and I think it's just best for everyone if I remain single. I'm more anxious than I let on. I'm a habitual nail biter. I break into hives waiting to get my oil changed. I wouldn't use the word "critical". I would say "opinionated" and yes it drives my friends bonkers. As for social and empathetic - I feel okay there. Happy? Well, who doesn't want to be happier? 

Fair enough Donna, I've got some stuff to work on. Donna asked me questions about my relationship with my family, job satisfaction, sleeping routine, difficulty with anxiety or depression, socializing habits, etc. I knew she was trying to find a sensitive spot - something I desperately wanted to be different. But see, I know I have a lot of work on, but I rather like my life. I mean, I want thinner thighs, but there didn't seem to be anything Scientology could do about that. Or is there? 

Donna asked what brought me to church - what was I looking for? I responded with exactly what I put in my blog, "I'm looking for something. I'm looking for a better understanding of God, myself, the universe and it's people. I'm looking for more pieces to the puzzle. This may or may not be another one." 

According to Hubbard, Scientology offers the simplest and most accurate explanation for the meaning of human existence and contains within it a specific formula for helping humans reach their full potential. He says this in his book Dianetics which (don't judge me) I purchased. Well, I spent 2 hours conversing and watching films with a Scientologist and I've read several chapters of Dianetics and I can tell you that Scientology is anything but simple - it's globidiglook. Luckily, my recent church visits have greatly aided in my ability to interrpret and simplify globidiglook. This may be my greatest challenge yet, but I shall try.

Scientology Beliefs Break Down (wicka wicka):

1. Man is good and his (all male focused language. not surprising.) chief goal in life is to survive.
2. Man cannot reach his full potential because of something called The Reactive Brain. There are two parts of the brain - analytical and reactive. The reactive part of your brain stores all the bad things that have EVER happened to you and creates an "engram" out of them. Engrams contain negative thoughts, feelings, messages and even physical sensations. When we are presented with a situation similar to what caused our engram, our reactive mind is triggered and we behave irrationally in accordance with our engram. This is the cause of our suffering
3. In order to decode and clear these engrams we must go through a process called "auditing".
4. The process of auditing is different for every person but involves you (the pre-clear or patient) and an auditor. Together you delve deep into your earliest memories, maybe even tapping into your past lives, experiences in the womb, or alien remnants from 75 million years ago. The length of this process varies for every person, but is generally fairly extensive and ongoing.
5. Auditing has the ability to solve all your problems. ALL of them. Your relationship issues, your bi-polar, your asthma, your infertility, your homosexuality, your back pain, your social anxiety, your lack of business success, etc. It will increase your sense of smell, your sex life and your intelligence. Once you are "Clear" you are basically a super human full of infinite possibilities. The world is your oyster!

This is why Scientologists believe in "silent birthing", because babies are recording everything that's happening in their reactive mind. Your screaming out in pain is just one more thing they will have to deal with in their auditing sessions. There are specific regulations for how Scientologists raise their children - which most of us are at least a little familiar with thanks to Suri Cruise.

There's more. A lot more. The deeper your delve into Scientology the weirder it gets. Like a machine called the e-meter that can read your thoughts. Or signing a billion year contract to join their most elite group the Sea Org, a naval "academy" that does secret stuff on the ocean. But that's for the higher ups. Being a pre-clear, Donna and I didn't get into all that and just stuck with the basic 5 things I outlined for you.

I have to admit, I does sound kind of amazing. A magical cure for all your problems? Hmm...maybe I'm not actually bad at relationships. Maybe it's just my damn reactive mind. Maybe if I just go into a room with a stranger for a few hours a week I will be transformed into a responsible, calm, happily married woman gliding through life with ease and confidence. What if it's true? What if this is the key? There are a lot of really pretty Scientologists who seem really happy and successful. John Travolta. Jenna Elfman. Leah Remini. Jason Lee. Erika Christensen. Are they on to something?

Donna pointed out that there are a lot of similarities between Scientology and Hinduism. Hubbard also draws comparisons between his theories and the concepts discussed in Buddhism. Accessing a higher plain of existence through the mind is not a new concept. I believe our minds do store information that we are not always aware of. I believe infants have memories of the things that happen to them, because I've seen it in my work. I don't necessarily believe they can conjure up images of their father screaming while they were in the womb, but I think the experience is in there somewhere. And I believe our minds are capable of more than we are currently using them for.

There's only one part of Scientology that greatly troubles me...and it's not the aliens or past lives...it's the money. Money. Money. Money. Buddhists don't really want your money in order to help you achieve enlightenment. In fact, they want you to give it all away and just focus on the basics. In Scientology reaching a higher plain of existence involves reaching deep into your pocket book. OR if you can't pay - you pay them with your devout servanthood. They give you a new understanding of yourself, but you no longer belong to yourself. Ahh...yes. This is where I climb back out of the rabbit hole. I'm simply too poor to be a Scientologist and I'm far too independent to be anyone's servant.

There's one other part that raises my eyebrows - this belief that we are all created with a part ourselves that is dysfunctional. I know we all have various abilities and disabilities, but this is saying something different. This is saying we were all created wrong and must overcome our wrongness to achieve true happiness. We are a flawed design. Are we? Christians say something similar. God created us in his image, yet we are sinners and must accept Jesus in order to overcome our imperfection. Are we born flawed? Are we born perfect? I don't feel perfect. I feel flawed, but perfectly flawed. Though I think our flaws are purposeful and are meant to help us along our journey in this life. See, I'm amazing just the way I am. Bruno Mars says so. So, can't I find God, achieve enlightenment, or become clear on my own? Do I not have that power within me? Why do I need your help?


Also, how does my brain remember things from a past life? My brain is a physical thing. My brain will die with my body. So, the mind transfers from human body to human body? Or is it a soul? I can feel myself falling down another rabbit hole. This journey is a series of various rabbit holes filled with adventures that confuse and exhaust me and change my perceptions of everything yet somehow nothing changes.

I've been reading too much Hubbard. This is exactly how he writes. In globidiglook.



This may not have been what you were expecting when you heard I went to a Scientology church. Welcome to the party. Leave your expectations at the door.

I had a very pleasant experience. Donna was incredibly kind and honest and open. She answered all my questions gently and candidly - even when I asked about rumors that Scientology was a cult. It wasn't scary. I never felt unsafe. She didn't pressure me to do anything. And as of right now, she hasn't hounded me with phone calls....but I know the calls are coming. I enjoyed myself. I love talking about this stuff, even though it exhausts me. This experience illustrated a code I live by - You'll never know until you try it out for yourself.

I Spent Easter at IHOP

When I was a freshmen in college each Friday night I would carefully pick out an elaborate and ill fitting costume (Disco sailor bell bottomed halter top pantsuit, white full length gloves and a blue wig. Every weekend something new. I went all out), adorn myself in glitter and eye jewels and head out alone to the town's local gay discotheque, Martha's Vineyard. Being too young to drink at the time I would stand around and smoke cigarettes and search out interesting people. It didn't take long before a group of young and fabulous gay boys took me under their fairy wings. Each Friday (and then sometimes again on Saturday) we would dance in a cloud of cologne and cigarette smoke until the wee hours of the morning and then take our sweaty selves over to IHOP for some delicious late-night replenishment. Often people question why I, a woman who does not identify as gay, would choose to spend her time in mostly gay company. Well, when I was all alone and felt very weird the gays took me by the hand, twirled me around the dance floor, told me I was gorgeous and fed me pancakes. 'Nuff said. Got nothing but love, respect and gratitude for my gay brothers and sisters. Marriage equality for all!!!

So, that was kind of a sidebar story that really barely connects with my Sunday church experience other than the fact that I indeed went to IHOP.  Only, tragically, this IHOP didn't serve pancakes. See, I went to a slightly different international house on Sunday - the International House of Prayer.

 

Yup. This church was in a Christian shopping mall next to Higher Grounds coffee shop and Glad Heart Realty (both owned by IHOP).  

 

Once again I found myself in Kansas City. It was my soul sister Hannah's 30th birthday and we enjoyed a weekend of day hiking, fireside giggling, face painting, mayonnaise based salads, glow stick dance parties and French 75s. It was magical. For Easter Sunday I wanted to attend a Christian service, but not a denomination of Christianity I had already visited. I also wanted some place not too far from where I was staying. But most of all I wanted to attend a service with lots and lots of music. Music has really been lacking in the services I've attended so far. I need more music!

 

Be careful what you ask for.

 

I hit up my Facebook friends for good church suggestions and then completely ignored them when I stumbled upon the website for an unusual church called the International House of Prayer which featured a prayer room that was open 24/7. I'm a sucker for something different. Sometimes when it's quiet at work I google "weirdest religions/churches in the United States" and am always amazed by the various religious gatherings that exist across our fine country. I'd never heard of IHOP before, so my interest was peaked. I asked my KC ladies what they knew about it - "it's got a reputation for being cult like", "a girl was raped there" "it's ginormous" "they own half that area of town".

 

I pay very little attention to what other people think and chose to make up my own mind about things. People say homosexuality is a sin - I disagree. People say smoking marijuana is wrong - I disagree. People say you shouldn't wear navy and black together or red and pink - I disagree. People say you shouldn't drink wine for breakfast - I disagree. I follow my heart and do what I think is right for me regardless of what others say. And my heart was rather excited see what this IHOP place was all about.

 

So, without doing any further research on IHOP, on Sunday morning I threw on my favorite red polka dotted sundress and mustard yellow cardigan and headed out on my church adventure. I had no idea what to expect, but I should have, because I got exactly what I asked for. Sometimes I can almost hear God/the universe cracking up at my expense - "(hehehe) Sarah. (hehe) You precious idiot. (hehehe)."

 

The service was nothing but a band singing the Bible. There is no sermon. No announcements. No meet and greet your neighbor. Nope, the whole service was music - expect for when this 20 something girl in leopard flats would close her eyes tight and whisper key lines into a microphone - "(whispered serious voice) You are holy." - over the bands boisterous singing. And when I say they were "singing the Bible" I mean it literally. They didn't have song sheets. They opened their Bibles to a particular passage, created a basic melody and then had a Bible jam session. They told Bible stories in song! I listened to the Easter story in song. Sometimes, they would nod at each other and one of the singers would create a 3 or 4 line repeatable chorus that would then be typed up on the TV screens and sung over and over with growing gusto and added harmony

 

Example:

This is not a picture of a helpless man

You could have stopped it any time you wanted

You endured the pain because you love me

Thank you, Jesus. You are holy.

(it frequently didn't rhyme or really make sense, but then again, it was made up on the spot)

Whispering microphone girl not pictured.

 This goes on all day, every day. Well, except Friday and Saturdays from 6-10 pm. Otherwise the Global Prayer Room at The International House of Prayer is open all the time and the music never stops. Musicians perform in 2 hour shifts and while the bands change out a small group of musicians plays until the new band is ready to go. It's free and (obviously) open to the public. I went around 8:30 and stayed till about 10:00. The audience was small - only about 50 people in a room made for 600. Most of the people were bowing in prayer, or kneeling in prayer, or walking with their hands in the air in prayer, or working on their computer in prayer, or lying on the floor crying in prayer, or relaxed on a chair sleeping in prayer. I didn't really know what to do. So, I sat in my chair and watched the band and didn't pray at all. I just didn't feel like it. I just kind of zoned out and sometimes I giggled.

This girl was praying with her hands in the air. Classic.

 

I doubt it would surprise you to find out that IHOP is an evangelical charismatic Christian missions organization. I doubt it would surprise you that on their "Information" wall I found a sheet titled "Jesus' Battle Plan for the End of the World". I doubt it would surprise you that there is a large following of 20 somethings at this church - about 1,000. I doubt it would surprise you that there is A LOT of controversy surrounding this church. It might surprise you that their "Prayer Room Guidelines" tell you exactly how to properly "lay hands" on someone - apparently rubbing is inappropriate. You learn something new every day.

 

You know, I was really kind of hoping for a "moving" Easter experience. It's not a holiday I've ever felt any connection to. I just don't buy the whole Jesus died on the cross and all of the sins of every person ever were magical transferred onto his body and now when we die we are able to live in a magical cloud land where the streets are flowing with milk and honey. The Bible is so full of symbolism, maybe Jesus' story was meant to be symbolic too, because literally it just doesn't seem feasible. I kind of want someone to try and explain it to me in a way that makes logical sense, but I'm pretty sure that's impossible.

 

This Sunday wasn't the experience I wanted, but it was the experience I went looking for. That happens sometimes - you want one thing, but you are obviously seeking out another. Life is hard. I mess up a lot. But then again, I'm glad I ended up at IHOP. I didn't get any special signs from God or have any major epiphanies and that was kind of nice. It was just a service. It was weird. It didn't really speak to me, but there are worse ways to spend an hour and a half.

 

After service, I attended an Easter Brunch at my friend Camille's house. Guess what she served? Pancakes. Perfect! Then I drove 4 hours home and was totally exhausted. I looked like a zombie. Many non-Christian's refer to Easter as Zombie Day (Jesus rises from the dead - get it?) So, in honor of my secular friends here is a super flattering picture of Zombie Sarah risen from 5 hours of sleep and grumpy after a long weekend of fun.