Hanging with the Episcopalians

 

 

 

7:57 am - Wake up.

 

8:01 - Make cat video

 

 

 

 

 

8:10 - Walk into kitchen. Eat the only food in the house - a banana and the scraps off the rotisserie chicken I'd been eating all weekend

 

Sometimes my life ain't so pretty

 

8:13 - Put the kettle on

 

 

 

8:15 - Walk down to the basement to get stuff for an art project

 

My entire apartment is basically a craft room.

 

8:22 - Put on pants

 

 

8:39 - Sit outside and have a cup of tea. Deliciously dark blackcurrant tea to be exact

.

 

8:46 - Research the church I'm going to today. Dig their attitude.

 

 

 

9:01 - Catch a few minutes of CBS Sunday Morning. All the segments are reruns I've already seen. I watch anyway and snuggle the cat.

 

9:10 - Think about getting dressed.

 

9:20 - Continue thinking about getting dressed.

 

9:30 - Brush teeth and wash face.

I love to brush my teeth!

 

9:40 - Throw on colorful clothes and red lip gloss. Ponder if red lip gloss is appropriate for church and then laugh remembering how I don't care about such things.

 

9:43 - Being impressed with my ability to look kinda cute with 10 minutes of prep and no shower I take roughly 10 selfies at various angles and in different lighting.  

 

9:46 - Head out to St. Mark's Episcopalian Church in St. Louis, MO

9:47 - An acoustic version of John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" comes on the radio as I turn on the car. I scream and scramble to play the CD David made me. John Mayer's god awful lyrics stop immediately and I roll down the windows, jam out to respectable music and drive on.

9:58 - I arrive at church. 2 minutes before the service begins. I have time to snap one pic.

 

 

From time to time people I know will meet someone they think I would enjoy. Oh, Sarah, you'll just love her. She's just like you. She's so funny. I can't wait for you two to meet! Then I meet this person and cannot stand her. She isn't funny. She's obnoxious and kinda stupid. It's painful to be in the same room with her. I don't like her. AT ALL. Then I'm left questioning my relationship with this person who thought I would like someone so horrible and deal with the new realization that this person either doesn't know me at all or believes me to be an obnoxious asshole. OR the even more painful realization that I am indeed an obnoxious asshole and cannot stand myself. Either way it ain't fun. So, when people start to say, Sarah, I know you will love... I stop them quickly. Because, no, no I won't.

 

As people started offering more and more recommendations for churches I found myself reflecting on the countless people I was supposed to love and didn't. Was church going to be the same deal? I didn't want to find out. So, any time anyone suggested a church to me I ignored it. I'd say, Sure, I'd love to check that out. Hopefully I'll have enough time. There are so many churches! And then pretend the whole ordeal never happened. But one suggestion kept coming back up...visiting an Episcopalian church.

 

So I decided to give it a go.

 

The second I stepped through the burnt red door I was greeted warmly by a lady whose name I don't remember. I never realized how important a greeting was until I started attending church again. Greetings really set the tone for the experience. If I am not greeted within the first 5 minutes I often write off the church as snobbish or unwelcoming or cold. You can blame my Midwestern heritage for that one. Where I come from you greet pretty much anyone who walks or drives by you with at least a hello, a smile or a wave. It's the polite thing to do. How hard is it to say hello? Not that hard people. Not that hard. Luckily, St. Mark's was full of "hellos".

 

I grabbed a bulletin and found an aisle seat in the middle of the sanctuary. I read through the 12 page booklet and grew nervous about the length of the service. Uh oh. This might be long. I should have brought a snack. Oh God. They do communion. And there's SO much unison speaking crap. But look, the hymnal is dated 1982. That's my birth year! Woo! Then I took a picture of the hymnal. Because....well....I don't really know. I was bored I guess. And I'm really proud of my birth year? I'm Ron Burgundy?

 

 

 

10:07 - Service begins. Holy Eucharist it's called.

 

Episcopalian services (at least at this church) are a bizarre combination of formal Catholic traditions mixed with the feel you get from going to Target. It's just a random mix of people (One lady came in wearing running shorts and a fanny pack. She was adorable.) all in a pretty good mood doing some formal rituals but in the same laid back style one might peruse the aisles at their favorite local Target. It was reverent and serious but at the same time relaxed and easy.

 

We started with singing. People actually sang. In key, mostly. A rarity. We sang this one song called "Earth and all Stars" where the refrain was "God has done maaaaarrrrrrrrrvelous things" and the tune was just glorious. I loved that part. There was a lot of saying things in unison, which I still don't like but have gotten used to. At one point we read 2 whole Psalms in unison. That felt excessive. It was hard to stay together. It was hard to do group pauses. We had to turn a page at one point. It was too much. Group readings should be short. There was a lot of standing and then not knowing when it was okay to sit again. Some people were standing. Some people were sitting. I didn't know what to do! So, I just followed my heart. It seemed to go over well.  

 

 

 

 

Blah blah blah...standard church stuff. Let's get to the meat and potatoes of the experience, shall we?

 

Let's skip to The Homily - or what the rest of us call The Sermon. Damn Episcopalians having to rename everything. Sheesh. Rev Mark Kozielec casually stepped up on the podium (which I'm sure has a fancy Episcopalian name) and delivered an incredibly thought provoking lesson. His talk was about....burnout and the importance of picking yourself up and carrying on even when you think you've had enough.

 

The Rev read about Elijah from 1 Kings. Elijah fled to the wilderness and prayed that he would die. But angels came and fed him saying he would need his strength or he'd never be able to finish the journey. Then God came to him and Elijah complained about how hard things had been. God did all this crazy stuff - earthquakes and wind - yet Elijah could not be moved. Finally, in the silence Elijah was able to listen to God who told him to return and continue his journey.

 

At least this is how the Rev explained the story from the Bible, but I imagine there are other interpretations. Episcopalians do not support a literal interpretation of the Bible. Episcopalians actually have a separate scripture book - The Book of Common Prayer - which is made up of Bible passages as well as other writings.

 

The Rev explained how we, like Elijah, often suffer from journey exhaustion and lack the strength to carry on so we pray for death. But God has other plans and instead sends nourishment and encouragement. It's fine to rest up for a while, even hide out when the world exhausts you, but then, at some point, you will have to pick yourself up and carry on. Because it's not about you, it's about God. And God has big plans for you.

 

Yup. I was totally supposed to come here today, because this message is for me. Sarah, you are burnt out. On everything. You've been hiding out. You've stopped caring. You lack motivation and drive. You have got to take a shower! It's time. Emerge from the cave, Sarah. Bathe first then emerge from the cave!

 

The Rev got me thinking....about why I started this church journey. I thought about the warehouse...which has been on my mind a lot lately. That experience haunts me. I thought about my grouchy attitude toward church. I thought about how little time left I have on this journey. I'm half way done. I will never have these experiences again. This is my moment - and that really applies to all things. It is my job to take all I can from this experience. No more complaining.

 

I love a good sermon (or homily). They renew your spirit. They inspire you. You feel like you can achieve anything you set your mind to. All of the sudden you are going to wake up at 5am and jog every day and only eat organic produce and volunteer at a youth shelter and march on Washington until gay marriage is federally recognized and rescue abused puppies. You are going to do ALL THE GOOD THINGS. There's no way you are actually going to achieve all those things, but it's nice to feel like you can. I set my sights small - doing my best to get the most out of these next 6 months and showering at least 3 times a week. Can do!

 

After the homily something strange happened. We greeted our neighbors. We are now 40 minutes into the service and we are just now saying hello. Odd. Even more strange, people didn't actually say "hello" they said "peace". I turned to my neighbors and shook their hands and said "good morning" and accepted their response of "peace" with a gentle smile. Some members of the congregation felt a need to say "peace" to every single person - touching them on the arm, looking into their eyes and saying "peace". This took quite some time. There was a lot of noise and movement. It was weird, but also kind of nice. In my new spirit of "getting the most out of everything" I decided to give "peace" a chance and wished peace to every person in my section (I wasn't going to walk up and down the aisles like the regulars. That's too much.)

 

COMMUNION TIME!

 

Communion always makes me nervous. I don't know why. Is it because I don't believe in Jesus as my savior? Is it the fear of doing something wrong? Is it because we are talking about eating a man's body and drinking his blood? Is it because everyone was drinking directly from the same cup? I don't know. But when the blessings were said and it came time to join the line of people who were kneeling at the altar and receiving their bread and REAL wine I panicked. In the bulletin it read "All who hunger and thirst for God are welcome to receive the Holy Communion at this altar" so I knew I was welcome. The lady across the aisle looked at me like "you doing this honey?". Sarah, this might be your only chance to take communion kneeling at an altar. Get your butt up there and do it. So, I did. I knelt. I got my bread and instead of drinking straight from the cup I dipped my bread in the wine. I followed my heart. I was proud.

 

 

11:17 - Service ends. On my walk out I took time to snap one more picture.

 

 

 

Okay. Fine. You were right. I loved the service. It was a great experience. All those who suggested I would enjoy an Episcopalian service were spot on. You know me well. Thank you. St. Mark's had a great energy. It's an inclusive church (aka gays are welcome) that doesn't talk excessively about how inclusive it is. The focus is where it should be - on God and God's people. St. Mark's had a warm and welcoming atmosphere and an open minded approach to God and religion. They also have a garden where the children grow vegetables and plant flowers - adorable.

 

Driving away from the church I suddenly realized how very very hungry I was. Knowing I didn't have any food at my house I drove over to my friend Rebecca's house who was out of town for the weekend and I was supposed to be feeding her cats. I fed the cats and then I fed myself. Her food selections were limited, but in the spirit of making the most of things I enjoyed a delicious meal of steamed broccoli, a banana, a handful of french fried onions and a piece of bittersweet baking chocolate. Yum!

 

Then I spent the rest of day finishing up my new therapy office and making the most of my $50 budget.

 

The office before...

 

 

The office after...

 

 

 

 

 

Woo! Making the most of things for the win! Now, get out there and make the most of your day! Or...hang out in your cave, but only a bit longer. There's work to be done. 

 

 

(Goo. I sound like a douche.)

(I couldn't stop the blog from formatting everything in the middle of the page.)

(I don't want to stop writing.)

(I'll miss you.)

(Till next time...)

(Which I'm totally excited about.)

(Moo.)

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

 

 

 



 

 

The Book of Mormon

God. I can't start with a quote again. I just can't. The whole quote thing is so freaking tired. I do love quotes though. Actually, I'd much rather continue reading Fred Rogers quotes than write, but if I don't finish this stupid fucking blog thing I'm going to feel like a complete failure. Also, I sorta kinda believe that something awful will happen to me if I don't see this through to the end. That's it. My motivation - fear and pride. I have to do this. It doesn't have to be good Sarah. Just put words on the page. Something. Anything. This. Just write what you are thinking right now...

Ahh, this is such a perfect middle part of my journey. You know when you say you are going to start something? Exercising regularly for example. If you make it past the first few days/weeks you start to find your stride. You enjoy it. You are proud of your accomplishment. You talk about it. Maybe a little too much. It becomes routine. Part of you. Almost effortless. Until...you hit a wall. You don't want to go on.You start to think about the other things you could be doing. Fun things. Exciting things. It's harder to stick to your routine, even though you've been doing for a while. You think about giving up. ALL THE TIME. You start thinking of excuses that would justify giving up. My ankle is hurting. I could do real damage if I run today. Better to stay in and rest. Just for today. We'll go extra hard tomorrow. Uh huh. Yeah. Sure you will. This is the moment where you prove what you are made of. Do you and your sore ankle jump over that stinking wall and run on as you said you would OR do you break your commitment and settle in on the sofa with a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine?

Mmmm....popcorn

It was 11:18 pm Saturday evening. The projector hummed a quiet hum. Freshly made kettle corn was passed around as we watched Wet Hot American Summer on the screen (sheet) we attached to the wood boards of my friend's screened in front porch. Lacey and I sat slowly swinging on the porch swing, enjoying the gentle breezes of the warm night air along with the magic that is WHAS and the always delightful company of our close friends. "Did you figure out where you are going to church yet?" she turned to me and asked. "Nope. I have no fucking clue. I really don't want to go to church at all" was my genuine response.

My friends tried to brainstorm non-church experiences that I might enjoy more than a "traditional" church service. Fishing, holding a seance and having our own church service (which would have been just continuing exactly what we were doing) were among the ideas presented. None of them felt right to me. Although, in my opinion, they were all valid forms of "church". But, I knew that if I went "non-traditional" this week it would set off a spark of "non-traditional" blog posts that would basically be me just writing about my every day life. Sure it would start cool - Sarah Has A Seance but within a few weeks it would be Sarah Takes A Nap.

I couldn't do that to you. Instead I offer...

Sarah Slowly And Unenthusiastically Jogs Up To Her Wall, Awkwardly And Begrudgingly Climbs Over It And Lands Smack Dab In The Middle Of A Really Boring Mormon Church Service

That's right. Even though I didn't want to, I went to church (and even though I didn't want to, I'm writing about it). But not just any church - Mormon church!

BOOM!

When I first started out on this journey The Mormons (which sounds like a really great mock 1950's style black and white TV show, thus I decided to capitalize "The") were a hot topic. Everyone had something to say about The Mormons. Would they let me in? Should I give them my contact information? Will they hound me forever?

So on Sunday when I visited The Mormons at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Kansas City, MO I expected some excitement. I expected some danger. I expected some weirdness. I expected some harassment or questioning. I expected to have something to write about.

Nope. Nothing. Nada. It was really quiet. Totally mundane. Actually, kind of boring. But I can always find something to write about

I walked in with a large group of people who led me to the chapel. A woman was passing out bulletins but took them away when I approached and then handed one to the person behind me. I didn't blame the lady. To be fair, I did walk into their sacred space looking like a hipster version of rainbow bright - red baby doll dress, hot pink cardigan, black leggings, rainbow polka dot Keds and messy unwashed hair wrapped up in a lime green polka dot handkerchief. Color in high doses can be alarming to those without much exposure. So, I wasn't offended when no one spoke to me or sat next to me. From the looks of the congregation, this was probably their first time meeting a human rainbow.

Now, let me take a moment to explain the difference between a Mormon "church" and a Mormon "temple". Only baptized and "qualified" Mormons can go inside Mormon Temple. It is not open to the public. The temple is a sacred space where Mormons learn eternal truths and perform various rituals like weddings and binding families together for eternity so they can be together in the afterlife. Now on the other hand anyone off the street can go to a Mormon church or "meetinghouse". At a meetinghouse you can sing songs very very slowly and hear monotone speakers read letters from "The President of the Stake". Woo! And now you know the difference.

Let's talk about the service shall we...

It took place in a large room with bare beige walls. There were no pictures, no stained glass windows, and only one basket of plastic flowers that had been banished to the corner of the room. Most of the pews at the front of the room were empty. However, the back pews were packed with men in black suits with white shirts and women with long flowy skirts and their hair tied on top of their head. Sitting next to every woman was either a young child or a screaming baby. There was never a moment when the room wasn't echoing with the sounds of a screaming baby.

This was the only picture I could muster. Yes,
that is indeed my thumb blocking the picture.

 

A room devoid of color or decoration packed with crying babies. It was like a nightmare.

I've been to a few churches now. 23 actually. Plus river church and TV church. That's 25 services of some kind. So, I suppose you could say I'm a bit of a church connoisseur or perhaps more like a church critic. The Roper of religious services?

Anyway...

Having been to so many churches I can't help but compare and contrast. For the most part, Mormon church ain't THAT different than Christian church and even has some things in common with my experiences with Buddhism, Hinduism, the Hare Krishnas, Scientology and others. There were a few notable differences that I'd like to share in breakdown form...

Things That Sarah Thought We're Slightly Weird About Her Mormon Church Experience:

1. Hand raising. The congregation was TOLD when they could raise their hand to show their appreciation of something or indicate their approval/disapproval. There was no clapping. At any time.

2. Communion/The Sacrament is TOTALLY different. At the front of the room was a table where The Sacrament was covered with a white cloth. Before removing the trays of wheat bread broken into small bites a man dipped underneath the table to pray. Out of sight, but clearly under the table. THEN, it was water instead of juice that was passed around. There was no music played during the process - just the melodic sounds of screaming babies - and it took quite some time. Also, you ate before you passed it to someone else. I declined to participate. No one told me I couldn't, but I just didn't feel right about it.

3. There was no Pastor. Various people are called on to speak and every week it changes. A group of people sat on the stage taking on different roles during the service.

4. There was a lot of talk about Israel. That threw me. Apparently, Mormons have a lot of missionaries in Israel and have some money invested in the place. This all has to do with the 2nd coming of Jesus....I think.

5. Speakers often took a moment to "testify" and would then state their beliefs about Jesus, God, The Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith, the 2nd coming, etc.

6. They didn't speak poorly of other religions. At one point a speaker referred to his neighbors as "Good Baptist people". That made me laugh. I grew up in a Baptist church where we openly talked about The Mormons being a cult and how they were all going to hell. (Of course I never believed that and still don't.)


They had two speakers on Sunday. One talked about fathers, which made sense because it was Father's Day. She didn't say anything that shocked me or blew my mind. Basically it was - fathers are an important part of a family, they should lead the family, we should obey, only men can be priests, men are meant to lead and other stuff. Women are not allowed to be priests in the Mormon church because that's not how the Lord planned it. Women can do other things. You already know how I feel about this.

The other speaker talked about prayer and reviewed the new "3x5 card method" the church was adopting. This "method" is simply writing down the name of 5 people on something called an index card and then praying for them every day. This is a new way The Mormons are trying to bring people to God. This man talked a lot about reaching out to your neighbors in "the ward" and bringing them into the church. I thought it was kind of funny, because there I sat, a new person, all alone, a willing listener, yet no one spoke to me (minus one lady who said "hello"). Hmm....index card method might have some flaws.

Service was over after about an hour and 15 minutes. I walked out of the church with purpose thinking God that was so not a big deal. Why do people freak out about the Mormons? The way I see it, EVERY religion is weird. No exceptions! Boy, I'm glad that's over. I need a drink. Woo hoo!! I went to church even when I didn't want to and now I get to celebrate by day drinking with my besties! Hooray!


I did it. I hurdled the wall - the church wall and the blog wall. I survived Mormon church and writing about Mormon church. I believe I just earned myself a nice tall refreshing bottle of wine. Go me!

Saying Goodbye/Social Work Church

What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.
                                                                                  Jack Kerouac, On the Road

I picked quite a year to write a blog. Oh yes. Quite a year.


On Wednesday afternoon I received a text from my Aunt, which was surprising because she seldom texts me. Upon returning her call I learned that my great grandmother had just passed away. She was 102 - a Spring chicken.

I featured this picture in another blog post.
This is Grandmommy.

My heart sank. Oh no. We are supposed to leave for San Francisco on Friday morning. It's Jonathan's graduation trip. We've been planning for months. Do we cancel? My parents are already there! Oh no. What are we going to do? Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Fuck! Then my heart sank even further. Grandmommy is gone. I'm never going to see her again. My heart. Tears started welling up in my eyes and I began sobbing at my work desk. I was glad she was able to pass away peacefully. She lived a very long life and we got to share countless memories together, but still I was going to miss her terribly and my heart was breaking and the timing was awful

Death never comes at a convenient time, eh?

The next few hours were exhausting - Trying to call my parents in California and brother in DC but only getting their voicemails. Dealing with screaming kids and meetings with worried parents in the midst of my sadness and anxiety. Running errands for a trip I wasn't sure I was going to take. Finally, late in the evening, getting a hold of my family, making plans, thinking, returning calls, getting new information and returning more calls. I was too busy to eat - something that's happened to me maybe 5 times in my life. At the grocery store I grabbed a bag of cheesy chex mix (something my Grandmommy always had at her house for us to eat when we played cards) and a bottle of wine (something my Grandmommy never ever consumed) and headed home to work on a eulogy with my brother via the telephone.

My brother and I stayed up late rehashing old memories and brainstorming the best way to put them together to create an appropriate tribute. After our brainstorming session, my brother gave me some time to free write. Writing is enormously therapeutic for me. Thoughts and phrases and words and sentiments rushed out of me as I sat at my kitchen table drinking wine, crying and putting pen to paper (for something like this you have to write by hand). I called Jonathan and read what we came up with. Naturally, he had critiques. That's how my family works and I love it. We made modifications until we were both satisfied with the piece.

Then on Saturday, during my great grandmother's funeral, my Aunt Winnie read our eulogy in our absence. We were in San Francisco.

Deciding to go ahead with our family trip wasn't easy for any of us. We all wrestled with the choice. We were very close to Grandmommy. My Mom lived with her before she and my Dad got married (Remember when people who weren't married didn't live together?). Every time my Dad took his car to get the oil changed he would walk to Grandmommy's, take off his shoes, rock in her chair and talk with her about whatever was happening in the family. Grandmommy took care of me when I was a baby - visiting my family in Bolivar, MO at my birth. My brother was the closest with Grandmommy, caring for her when she was sick, bringing her lunch, helping her into her jammies...they had a special bond.

But that was the thing, we enjoyed every moment we could with Grandmommy. We were there in good times and in bad. We always let her know how much she meant to us and how much we loved her. We always made sure each goodbye was good enough to be the last. We were there for the important part - life.
For me, I'd already said my goodbyes to Grandmommy and made my peace. Sending my words to the funeral and taking time with my parents in San Francisco to honor her memory was enough closure for me.

Life carries on and we have to carry on right along with it.

So on Sunday. I found myself in San Francisco with my family. And after 14 years of refusing to go to church with my parents I found myself walking to church with my mother and father and brother and it wasn't even Christmas Eve. They volunteered to come along on the experience.


During my research for a good church to attend in San Francisco I came across Glide. People raved about Glide's inclusive atmosphere as well as their extensive outreach programs. Glide feeds over 1 million people every year. They have multiple housing units for the homeless. Weekly support groups for LGBT persons and substance abuse recovery are offered at the church. On their roof, they have an organic garden and beekeeping program. They have endorsements from Maya Angelou, Warren Buffet and Oprah herself. That's right, I said Oprah. It's a pretty impressive place.

Reviews raved about their jazz band and large choir. So, I was anxious to experience their Sunday worship service. I made my family get to the church 45 minutes early to ensure good seating. My how the tables have turned, eh? We were ridiculously early, but it gave us a chance to take in the ambiance of the place - and boy there was a lot to take in. There was one fabulously energetic man with pom poms and a flower hat greeting everyone warmly and shouting "Good morning! Hello! Shalom! Guten Morgen! Frosted Flakes!" out into the congregation.

This guy was a hoot!

 People of all kinds gathered in the sanctuary. From men dressed in nice suits to men in raggedy clothes to men in dresses. Old and young were represented. Gay and straight and transgender. Women with short hair. Women with long hair. Women with no hair. Women with dreadlocks. People of every race. People of every ethnicity. People of all abilities and disabilities. People of every income bracket. People of every belief structure. People of various backgrounds and life experiences. And what were all these diverse people doing you ask? Hugging. Oh my. So much hugging. Big giant welcoming bear hugs. Now, I'm not a hugger, but I think hugging is a very healthy thing to do. People need hugs (but please hug me sparingly). To me, church should be the kind of place where people are freely hugging each other. It warmed my heart to see all these beautifully unique people showing such affection for one another. Just warmed my heart.

It also warmed my heart to see my beautiful family sitting in the pew with me. My Dad smiling at the man with the flowered hat. My brother engaging in conversation with the regulars seated next to us. My Mom encouraging me to take pictures of everything so I could include it in the blog. Getting to share this moment with my family, especially after losing a dear family member, meant the world to me.

My brother is silly. I love him. 

People trickled in, hugged someone and then found their seats. Service began. The room was packed. The 6 (maybe 7 I can't remember) person jazz band beat out rhythms and the congregation stood up - clapping their hands and swaying to the music. The room was alive with energy. Slowly, the stage filled with the large choir who was as equally diverse as the audience. Song filled the sanctuary. On stage, the faces of the choir reflected the warmth of the faces around me. Everyone was smiling.

Singing. Singing. And more singing. I love big choir numbers. Love them. This church fulfilled my "I want to go to a church with really great music" wish. The choir was amazing. The soloists were dynamite. Energy and love and celebration and soul and joy and pure talent poured from the singing ensemble. I enjoyed every minute.

Much of my experience at Glide reminded me of my time at MCC, that glorious God filled church I had such a moving experience at. During my time at Glide there were moments I felt a few tears well up in my eyes. Demonstrations of love move me and Glide was certainly filled with love. However, I could feel myself building up a wall to block my emotion and I wasn't sure exactly why. Was it because I was sitting next to my family? Nah, to my family's dismay, I'm not afraid to show raw emotion in their presence. Was it because of the traveling? Was it because it was too similar to MCC?

Then, as the "Intern" (I can't remember her name. It was a long week.) was giving her sermon, it hit me...

The choir at Glide. 

Her sermon started with a reference to Tina Turner's immortal "What's Love Got To Do With It?". I can't even type that lyric without finishing the song in my head. Oh, okay...outloud...with gusto...pretending to hold a microphone and bobbing around. It's a great freaking song! She questioned what love had to do with God and religion. Her answer....EVERYTHING. I couldn't agree more.

Sidebar: While this amazingly articulate woman was speaking a man was sitting behind her in the choir providing encouragement for everything she was saying. It was almost like call and response. Only he was the only one responding. He had a deep voice that was difficult to miss and a creative response for all of her statements and I mean ALL OF HER STATEMENTS. As I was sitting there listening, occasionally giggling to myself, I thought about how great it would be if I had a person who followed me around backing me up with encouraging responses to my words...


To me, God is love (amen). And God's love is unlimited (you know it). I loved that this church truly embodied the concept of unconditional love (say it girl). They are living out the command to "Love one another as I (God) have loved you"which is written in the Bible somewhere I'm told (Praise God!) The man sitting next to me admitted at first it was hard for him to accept all the differences in the church (ain't easy). He didn't know how respond to a biological male who believed himself to be a woman (help me Jesus). Unconditional love is not something you do without considerable effort (amen). It is easy to write someone off because they are different (yes it is). Cast them away. Put them in a box and label it "unloveable". (uh huh). But those of us who know that God is love know that God's love extends to absolutely every being in the universe (hallelujah) and even when it's hard we must fight to love all of God's beautiful creations (you said it!).

After this Tina Turner reference I felt my emotions change. She started to speak about social justice issues. Political issues. She talked about homophobia, gay marriage, racial inequality, gun violence, social programs, sexism, socialized healthcare, etc. A wall was building up around my emotions and I could feel my face go blank. This is just like social work. This is like social work church. 

Social justice issues are near and dear to my heart, but I live them out every day at my job. See, I am a social worker. And every social worker knows you cannot get too emotionally attached to your work or you will crumble under the weight of a society burdened with pain. So when anyone starts to talk about social jusiticey things I get very analytical. The service became more like a political rally than worship. I wasn't too crazy about that. I'm sure Jesus wouldn't be happy about gay bashing and massive gun violence, but when people start combining God and politics I get nervous.

Overall, I enjoyed my experience at Glide. They are doing amazing things in their community. I absolutely love their attitude about inclusion. Jesus was an includer. He just was. Lots of those Bible stories seem to be about inclusion. Prostitutes, lepers, lower class, children, elderly, women - Jesus loved em all. Loved em. Wanted to hang with them. Touched them. Invited them to dinner. Helped them. Healed them. Washed their feet. Offered them forgiveness. Jesus was a decent man. I've got no beef with Jesus. As the song goes, Jesus is just alright with me. Oh yeah! It's churches that claim to follow "the teachings of Jesus" yet exclude a laundry list of people from their church that bother me.

Service ended. As did my vacation. I came home to an apartment where my great grandmother's vase sits on my coffee table and her mother's rug color's my kitchen floor. Her smiling picture is on my fridge and her handmade dish cloths hang over my sink. Her memory is in my apartment as well as my heart.

Since this is a place where I share my thoughts through my writing I would like to share with you what my brother and I wrote for our Grandmother's funeral...

For Grandmommy 

“Will you make me some pancakes?” were the first words Jonathan spoke the minute our parents walked out the door. You didn’t even respond. You just smiled, walked into the kitchen, pulled out your cast iron skillet and within minutes we were eating the most delicious pancakes ever made. The smell still lingers in the air. As does the memory of you standing over the oven while we sat at the table in your tiny kitchen chattering on waiting for our pancakes. 

Food was one of the many ways you showed your love, but not the only way.  When Sarah snuck into your bathroom and pulled out your blue eye-shadow, rouge and hair pick you showed your love by enduring hour long make-overs.  You showed your love by driving us in the Impala, that boat of a car without seatbelts and only an AM radio, to get Chinese food at Jade East or ice cream at Baskin Robbins or taking us to the movies to see The Santa Clause.  Reading us our favorite books, Ping the Duck and Leo the Lion, over and over was yet another demonstration of your love. You showed your love by teaching Jonathan about the “bunny ear” shoe tying technique and bringing him Reese’s peanut butter cups in your pocket to every Bears basketball game, determined to make him like chocolate.  It was love when you would lie about your hand so we could win the card game. Looking up at you with puppy dog eyes we’d say, “Tickle me”. You would lay us across your tiny lap, gently tickle our backs and we would melt in the comfort of your love. When it was time to go, you would always insist on walking us to the car. Then you would stand on the driveway, smile and wave your silly wave. Then you would stand on the porch and wave some more.  Driving off, almost out of sight, we would see you peering out your window still waving, still loving us.  

When Nana passed away we were lost. We were heartbroken. Then you stepped up to fill a void in our hearts becoming more of a grandma to us than a great grandmother. We would barge into your house and you would welcome us with open arms, cheesy Chex mix and a garage full of soda. We’d play cards and eat and laugh and be silly and you’d say “that’s disgusting” a lot and for an hour all was right with the world. 

Then things started to change and suddenly we were the ones bringing you snacks and helping you into your jammies. We became the ones lying about our hand and letting you win the card game. Every goodbye was important – never knowing how much time we had left with you. “We love you” we’d say and give you hugs. “See you next time” we’d say and you would always respond “I’ll be here.”  Then, just as you always did, you would smile and wave until we were out of sight. 

Now you are gone and this is our last goodbye. 

We love you. We loved every minute we got to spend with you. It was such a joy to have you in our lives and an honor to call you Grandmommy. Thank you for all the wonderful memories. We will cherish them always. We’ll see you next time. Until then, we know you’ll be here, forever in our hearts. 

For the last 12 years of my grandmother's life we were on guard for her death. 12 years. Every Christmas we knew could be her last so we always tried to make it special. When I went to London for a semester and my brother went to Germany for a year we both thought it might be the last time we saw Grandmommy. Every visit we would make sure to leave with a good goodbye. We always told her we loved her. We always ended things on a positive note, because we never knew how much time we had left. When she passed, I was sad, but we had so many goodbyes and so many I love yous. Somehow that reassured me. 

The truth is none of us know how much time we have left. Could be hours. Could be years. Shouldn't we treat every moment as if it could be our last? I'm not talking YOLO here. I mean...shouldn't we hug like it's the last time and always end on "I love you"? Shouldn't we forgive? Let go? Be kind? These are the thoughts that kept me awake upon my return home from San Francisco. I tried to think if I had any lingering "bad" goodbyes out there. I did. One. So, I stayed up writing a facebook message to someone I refused to forgive and haven't spoken to for nearly 3 years. 

This is one of the greatest lessons I will take from my grandmother...always end it with a hug and an I love you. Always. Always. Always. 

Thank you for reading this.

I love you. 

I owe you a hug. 

The Hare Krishnas

I remember it well. I woke to the vacuum running. Which was really nothing special. My father is a compulsive vacuumer. It's not uncommon for him to vacuum three times a day. Curled up in bed in my upstairs room I could hear my family downstairs bustling around the house getting ready for church. They took extra care to make as much noise as possible. The clingy of the dishes and the boom of foot steeps seemed to scream out We are off to church! Without you! Heathen! Then I heard the garage door open and the door slam. They were gone. Under the blankets I couldn't help but let out a faint smile. After years of waking early, showering, fixing my hair, putting on panty hose and uncomfortable fancy clothes and piling in the car with my family I was finally sleeping in on a Sunday. It was glorious. It was absolutely glorious. Telling my family I would no longer be attending church was one of the best decisions I ever made.

This Sunday I woke to the piercing meows of a cat in desperate need of snuggling. I pulled my beloved black devil in close and reached for my phone. 12:00? Holy crap! I slept till NOON?!? Oh wow.

This is the art project Theo and I surprised
Rebecca and Nathaniel with.

It makes sense though. Saturday I was out late drinking fancy cocktails at noisy clubs with dark strangers and having gratuitous amounts of sex until the wee hours of the morning. I'm kidding. I'm so not that kind of girl. I hate fancy cocktails. I actually was up until the wee hours of the morning making silly art projects, drinking wine and having an old fashion contemporary christian worship song sing-a-long with my friends. Apparently singing exhausts me.

I've slept in till Noon maybe 3 times in my adult life. Usually, I wake around 6:30 am regardless of when I went to bed. So, I was pretty surprised to read 12:00 on my phone. But, honestly, it felt amazing and reminded me of that first Sunday I got to skip church and sleep in. Up until 5 months ago it had been 14 years since I attended church on a regular basis.

So, obviously, I didn't attend church Sunday morning.

Nope.

I attended church Sunday evening.

Around 4:30 pm dressed in my finest floral flowy skirt I headed to The International Society for Krishna Consciousness in St. Louis.

Without hesitation I opened the door to the salmon colored building. Long gone are the days when I felt nervous about entering into these strange and unknown religious places. I walk in like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Because I am.

Inside, I found 2 men sitting in the entry way, explained to them my first time status and asked for guidance. They were shocked that I just happened upon this place and came alone. How'd you hear about this? Are you in a class? You're a student of some kind? When I explain to people that I'm on a spiritual journey of sorts this seems to appease them. Though, it is rather flattering that people still think I could be a college student.

One of the men gave me a run down of the service, what to expect, basic rules and some brief background information. I entered through the large wooden door into the tiny temple space. The room was a small rectangle with beige walls, intricate wood pillars and colorful alters at each end. As others entered they threw themselves down on the ground in front of an alter, laying completely flat, and then popped back up and did it again in front of another alter. I just stood. Awkwardly. I stood awkwardly and watched people. People slowly trickled in and grabbed a carpet square and took a seat. I took my place with the womenfolk after learning that during Krishna services the women are kept separate.

Service started with chanting - drum circle chanting! Three young girls gathered around a small accordion like box playing music and singing chants into a microphone. Meanwhile, the rest of the participants were joining in the chant and making rhythms with drums and tambourines and symbols. Where did the instruments come from? Can I have one? God, it's hot in here. I'm sweating. Is there a rule against new people playing the drum? Oh, what do I care? I'm getting one. I located the instrument shelf and took a tiny drum for myself making beats and chanting for the next 45 minutes.

Suddenly everyone stood up, facing the large brightly colored alter at the front of the room. The men formed a line on their side of the room as the women did the same on their side. A woman approached me, asked my name and invited me to join in with the dancing ladies. To my left I saw all the men with shaved heads jumping up and down dressed in white gauzy robes. They were joyous and yelling and clapping and twirling each other around. What were the women doing you ask? Oh, just a simple step touch. The ladies' side was very subdued. Some women were too shy to even dance and just sat mumbling the chants. As I turned and watched the men I thought seriously about just jumping in their circle and dancing with wild abandon. But I didn't. I didn't come to ruffle feathers. I came to experience. So, I focused on how well my flowy skirt fit in with all the other women's flowy skirts and how wonderful it felt against my skin as it gently moved with each step touch and carried on with my lady dancing.

While we danced a women preformed rituals in the alter space - burning things, breaking flowers, pouring things - I couldn't really see what she was doing. Periodically, something from the alter was passed around the room - burning flames, a flower to smell and some kind of water a lady threw at me. A man and a woman were designated to pass around the blessings to the separated sexes.

Then the chanting and dancing stopped and everyone dropped to their knees placing their foreheads on the ground in prayer. I have no idea what was being said because as I was trying to decipher the mumblings I felt a slap on my backside. Still on my knees, I glanced behind me and saw a little girl about 18 months old with big brown eyes dressed in a bright pink ruffly tunic and leggings. This little girl looked me square in the eye and then smacked me on the ass. I couldn't help but laugh...kids. Her mother grabbed her away in horror. I said nothing, but smiled that "It's cool. I'm well aware of how horrible children can be. Not to worry" kind of smile.

After an hour and a half of chanting and dancing it was time for the discussion.

 I grabbed a carpet square and my water bottle. The room must have been at least 80 degrees and was now completely packed with attendees. I chugged the contents of my water bottle. A nice lady informed me of today's discussion topic - The Role of Women in Krishna Consciousness. Oh. This oughta be good.

It wasn't nearly as offensive as I thought it was going to be. But it was pretty damn offensive. I'll just do a breakdown for you....




What the Italian Man in the Flowers Had to Say About Women's Role in Krishna Consciousness:

1. Women were made to churn butter and take care of the house, but as times have changed we must start accepting that women can do other things.
2. Women need to be protected by a man (because of their physical and emotional weakness), but if a woman is protected by Krishna then she has no need for a husband.
3. There are lots of women in positions of power these days (listed various female Prime Ministers) and we should not treat these women as women, but instead treat them in accordance with their title/position of power. (He had pictures of various women in power...mostly women in Asia...and when he flashed each picture a large number of the men in the audience laughed.)
4. Women can be priests in Krishna Consciousness and should be allowed to speak, if they are decent speakers, even if there is a man who is a better speaker. Men are naturally more intelligent and better speakers, but women should be given this opportunity.
5. When it comes to work in the church women can do more than just keep the kitchen clean they might also be good at distributing books.
6. In the church it might be okay for a woman to speak up, especially when greeting new people, but at home it would be best if the woman remained shy and submissive.

Lining up for the sanctified food that
I didn't stay for.

 A flurry of thoughts went through my head. The first being WHAT A CROCK OF SHIT! After that I was pretty much done with the Hare Krishnas. I declined to join their sanctified vegetarian food celebration. I'd been there for nearly 3 hours, I was hot and I was just plain over the experience.

I walked back to my car thinking....I'm weak, eh? Less intelligent? Should be kept separate? Need the protection of a man? Should be shy and submissive? Should be churning goddamn butter!?!? Fuck you! Tell me I'm less?

Then I took a deep breath and remembered....Oh. Wait. That's all a crock of shit. I don't believe any of it. Why am I getting upset?

I had this rather unfortunate incident the other day. A man at a gas station invited me to have sex with him. When I declined, stating I was in a relationship and simply not interested, he persisted to explain in great detail what he would do and how much I would enjoy the experience. It was early in the morning and I wasn't quite awake yet. I had pre-paid for my gas and felt trapped in the moment. Usually, I would come up with something smart to say or tell the guy to "fuck off" but instead I just put my head in my hands and yelled out "Oh God. Make it stop." He went away after that, but I will never forget the mental images he left me with.

I did nothing to illicit this interaction. I just responded with a "hello" when he greeted me, but I felt guilty. I thought maybe I shouldn't have said hello. Maybe I shouldn't have showered that day. Maybe my cardigan was too revealing. I shouldn't have smiled so bright. I should have kept my eyes down. I should have controlled my hips more. I shouldn't have been so obviously a woman.

No. No. I will not be made to be ashamed of my womanness. There's nothing wrong with women. We are amazing, talented, intelligent, compassionate, beautiful, capable creatures because that's who God created us to be. We just live in a society that doesn't understand. Once again we continually try to separate ourselves - man/woman, gay/straight, black/white - in an effort to prove who God loves the most. You fools! God is a woman. God is everything. So, when you put down one of God's beautiful creations you are actually insulting God. Idiots. Self-righteous idiots.

I will not further insult God by accepting your idiocy as my own. I'll just go right on loving myself for the amazing woman I am and God created me to be. Thank you very much.

(This is a super condensed version of my original rant. I was up all night ranting and raving about feminism - explaining the situation to my cat in detail. It was silly, but these things really do bother me and Cole is a great listener.)

It feels good to be writing on a Monday again.

My next church adventure will be another out of state one - Sarah Goes To Church In California!

Until then...