The Wrap Up

How do you measure, measure a year? 

In sunsets? In laughter? In cups of coffee? In Broadway musical numbers? 

In church visits?

Memories from an amazing year of church.

As a thick winter snow falls all around St. Louis, I remember the long harrowing drive I took on a blustery December 31st  from Kansas City back home to The Lou. The snow was blowing in all directions. The hard gray roads were covered with soft slippery white snow. Traveling down the highway at 30mph I saw cars get stuck and slide off the road and semi-trucks turned on their sides. For the first two hours of the trip my knuckles gripped the steering wheel tightly, my eyes watered with tears and I bargained with God for my safety. After a night of stupid and dangerous choices I knew this blizzard was my punishment and my awakening. In exchange for my safety, I promised to start going to church. 

God made good on the promise of safety and me and my little blue Civic returned to St. Louis unharmed.  So, on Sunday January 6th 2013 I attended my first church service at First Unitarian Church in St. Louis, MO.

At the end of a strange and confusing and challenging and glorious and eye-opening year I have attended 46 church services. 

46 out of 52 ain't too shabby. It's 88%. A B+ is a perfectly fine grade for a class that required me to get up early ON SUNDAYS. I'm fairly certain God agrees since I haven't been smited….yet. 

There were a number of people who thought this whole church thing was amazing. There were others who thought it was insane. There were others who thought it was disrespectful. There were others who thought it was dangerous. There were some who hoped I would find Jesus. There were some who prayed I wouldn't. There were some who hoped I'd write a book. There were some who hoped I'd stop writing. 

As always, I never really cared what others thought. I've always marched to the beat of my own glitter covered drum and this church thing was no exception. As  silly as it might sound to many of you, I knew this journey was ordained and protected by God so there was no need to worry. Everything would work out as it was supposed to. 

And it did. 

I danced with witches and communed with Episcopalians. I sat silently with Quakers and chanted with Buddhists. I've been evaluated by Scientologists and welcomed by Jehovahs Witnesses. I listened to Hebrew Scriptures and prayed in Latin. I drank sweet milk from my hand with Hindus and ate sacred pudding with Sikhs. I sung hymns with rural Methodists and with my childhood church family. I discussed portals to heaven with cult members and the forbidden fruits of gay sex with Baha'is. I cried tears in the presence of strangers at Metropolitan Community Church and I found peace in a Garden Chapel. I've been disgusted by Catholic priests and inspired by Apostolic Faith choirs. I've shaken hands with Mormons and Spiritualists and Mennonites and Hare Krishnas and Presbyterians. I survived a year of church. 

Regrettably, I was unable to pray with Muslims or engage in dark magic with Satanists or congregate with Zorastrians or experience a "spirit walk" with Peyotists or attend a Lutheran worship service. 

Muslim believers have one of their main gatherings on Fridays at 1:00 pm, which has been a difficult time for me to get away from work. Also, women generally aren't allowed in the main hall and are restricted to a separate room. The separate room thing was a big turn off, so I never made the effort. But I will visit a Muslim Mosque someday. Perhaps, disguised as a man. 

Satanists require you to fill out an application and become an approved member before ever attending. Membership also comes with a fee of $80-$200 depending on the church. Applicants must prove they can be an asset to the church - such as possessing dark magical powers - in order to be considered for membership. Satanism is not about human sacrifice or evil villanry, so be careful before you judge. I would have LOVED to attend a service, but I'm not interested in becoming a member. I have no dark magical powers and $80 is steep for one visit. 

Zoroastrians, the religion of Queen's frontman Freddy Mercury, don't regularly meet. At least not in St. Louis. There is a group here, but they only meet for special occasions like weddings and holidays. I felt strange about requesting to attend a sacred ceremony as a touristy visitor taking pictures and not knowing any of the customs. But if I ever get the chance, I'm taking it. 

Attending a Peyotism service would have been fantastic. Recently I read about a church in Arizona called Peyote Way where the logistics are worked out so you can safely and legally ingest the hallucinogenic cactus gruel and experience the spiritual awakening mind altering drugs are famous for.  This would have been a SPECTACULAR church visit and blog post. Though, my father probably wouldn't have spoken to me for a month or two. But Peyotism didn't work out.  You must become a registered member of the church to take a "spirit walk" and there's a member fee of $200 plus the cost of a trip to Arizona. Still, If I ever had the chance and the moolah, I'd go for it. I'm pretty sure some of my friends who weren't down for traditional church experiences would certainly be down for this one. 

No love lost on the Lutheran church service. I'm sure it's lovely, but I'm also sure it's fairly similar to the dozen or so other Protestant services I attended. Maybe not though, I'll be sure to work one in some time in the nearish future. 

Each church had a unique experience to offer and no two were the same. Yet somehow, they were all the same. There are too many similarities between all the places I went and the people I met and the scriptures I heard and the rituals I witnessed to separate them.  Here at the end of my journey I don't really remember the details of 46 individual church services, because they don't feel individual anymore. They feel collective. And I'm calling this collective experience "going to church" not "churches". 

Being a lover of lists and bold font I would be remiss if I didn't include a list in my final post. 

Sarah Goes To Church And Learns Some Stuff

            

1. Churches are full of people. 

When I was a kid I loved that little hand game "Here's the church. Here's the steeple. Open it up and see all the people."  Then later in life one of my biggest deterrents for attending church was the people who would be there. In my mind church people were a separate breed - a stupider breed - and affiliating with them was out of the question. It was around my fourth church visit that I realized that "church people" are actually just regular people. Just run-of-the-mill totally flawed but kind of wonderful regular people. It shocked me. I met tons of church goin' folk who didn't agree with my religious beliefs or political views and who smiled a little too much and hugged me despite my body language begging them to do otherwise, but somehow I liked them. I know there are evil people out there who use church and religion as their means of inflicting pain and hatred upon others. It's just, in my experience, these people are the exception and not the rule. I say, give (church) people a chance. 

2. No one owns the rights to God

God is not exclusive to one religion. Most churches were accepting of this idea. Others thought they held the exclusive rights to God - mostly conservative Christian congregations. But, I don't think that's the case. God is like the swing-set at public school. God's not yours. You don't own God. You can't control God or determine who accesses God and how. God is for everyone and there's room for everyone on the swing-set of God. You might have to sit next to a Hindu and a Baptist. Oh well. Get over it. Share dammit. 

3. You often find what you are looking for so be careful what you seek. 

If you go looking for danger you'll probably find it. If you seek self-destruction you'll soon find yourself destroyed. If you search for disaster it shall be yours. If you want help ask for it and it will come. If you desire a pleasant experience seek one out. If you long for peace then look for peace and see what happens. When I was sitting in meditation with Yogini it occurred to me that I chose this journey. I always felt like God had almost forced me into it, but really it was my soul (which is connected to God) crying out for a change. So, I started seeking something other than self-destruction and landed smack dab in the middle of self-discovery. 

4. Follow your heart. 

There are times you should listen to your friends and family. Like when you suddenly decide to develop a crystal meth addiction or want to adopt your 55th cat. Those are times when your decision skills have imploded and you are no longer allowed to make your own choices. There are other times when you need to ignore your friends and family, because they are clearly blind to your vision. When your friends try to convince you that you are too fat to be an orphan in the local production of Annie you need to ignore that shit and sing "Tomorrow" with all the gusto of a Broadway baby. When your family thinks it's disgusting that you want to wear sparkle tights because you are a boy and boys don't wear sparkle tights you need to pull on those sparkle tights with pride and shine like the top of the Chrysler building. Then when your family and friends think you are bonkers for dancing around the fire with a coven of witches you won't think twice about ignoring their wishes and having the time of your life bouncing like a raindrop around the flaming logs.  God gave you a heart (soul, conscience, spirit, whatever you wanna call it) for a reason. Listen to it.

5. Cherish the ones you love

During this whole blog thing there were some unexpected moments. I never expected to start weekly e-mails with my grandmother and develop a deeper and more meaningful connection with a person I've always felt somewhat distant from. I never expected to have people from all over the world follow my blog.  I never expected that many of my friends would show a great interest in my journey and insist on attending services along with me. Throughout this bizarre experience I've gotten messages of encouragement and support from strangers and friends I haven't spoken to in years. Every week I've been shocked that anyone other than my mother even read my post. Thank you. Thank you for sharing this journey with me. I owe you a beautifully decorated handmade thank you card. I'm not joking. Send me your address and I'll put one in mail for you. You can email me at sarahashleythomas@gmail.com. 

Going to church is one of the coolest things I've ever done. (That has to be among the top five strangest things I've ever said) 

This concludes the sometimes funny mildly exciting often cheesy writings of Sarah Goes To Church. It's been a pleasure. I wish you the best in all your adventures. Perhaps I'll see you around the blog some time in the near(ish) future. 

I miss you already. 

 

Sikh And Ye Shall Find

I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be.
- Sri Guru Granth Sahib J



It's the last Sunday of the year. 


I crawled into bed with my brother and a can of honey roasted peanuts (the only food in the house). Snuggled up under the blankets we watched the last Sunday Morning of the year and delighted in the calm soothing voice of Charles Osgood. Jonathan was flying out that afternoon - returning home to Washington DC - and these were to be our final few moments. Though I offered, Jonathan wasn't interested in attending church with me that morning. Especially when I informed him of the turban requirement. 

We bid our farewells - gentle hugs and silly handwaves- and I left my brother to finish the journey I started twelve months ago. 

Dressed in a long floral skirt with black leggings underneath, a purple shirt, and a green floral headscarf with a navy pom pom lining I hoped in my little blue civic and drove off in search of my last adventure. 

But first I stopped at Starbucks. For the Starbucks on South Kingshighway makes THE best chai tea latte I've ever had. And nothing brightens my morning like the perfect chai. Sorry local coffeeshops. 

For the past three months I've been trying to make it to the Sihk Study Circle in St. Peters, MO and for three months my attempts have been thwarted. I had come up with a fantastic post title and couldn't justify not using it in my blog, but I needed to actually attend the place. So, come hell or high water today was going to be the day I made it to the Sikhs (pronounced Seeks). 

And it was. 


As I drove thorough a residential neighborhood in the rural area of St. Peters I was quite certain I was lost. But then, just over a hill and past the Church of Christ I saw them....giant shining gold domes. 

I sat in the car for a moment nervously organizing nothing. The holidays allowed no time for research so I was entering into the Gurdwara (what Sikhs call their place of worship) blind. I adjusted my headscarf, looked myself in the mirror and opened the car door. You know very well there is nothing to be nervous about. I walked through the glass doors and saw three men with colorful turbans on their heads and immediately sought their assistance. 

"Hello. This is my first first. Is there anything I should know?" 


A man in a purple shirt and matching purple turban quickly jumped up and greeted me. My nerves were calmed by the presence of my favorite color - purple. My new purple friend asked me to remove my shoes and wash my hands. So I did. Then he took me 
on a tour of EVERY SINGLE ROOM IN THE BUILDING. 

I'm not joking. 

We saw the kitchen where rugs lined the floors instead of tables. After Sunday service Sikh's share a meal called Langar and unless you are physically unable to do so you are expected to sit on the floor. In the kitchen I saw beautiful women in colorful sari's with matching headscarves. My tour continued with the bridal room, where women get ready for their wedding ceremonies. We then viewed the children's learning area - just a carpeted room without anything on the walls. My purple friend who never told me his name explained that this building had only been open for three months and still wasn't fully put together. We then viewed the adult learning spaces. After he opened to doors to the prayer room - a large expansive carpeted space lined with white sheets. At the front of the room was an alter with flashing Christmas lights. Inside the alter sat a bearded man sing-reading from a scroll in a language I didn't understand (Punjabi). I assumed our tour had come to an end, but nope, not quite. 

There are several Gurus at the Gurdwara who sing-read scripture in the prayer room from 8:00 am until 8:00 pm. These Gurus live at the Gurdwara and I was shown their living quarters as well as the laundry facilities available at the church. Then I was given a fascinating tour of the mechanical part of the Gurdwara including the room for the heaters and their storage of rock salt for icy days. The man in purple was very kind and gentle and answered all my questions. He was quick to explain the difference between Sikhs and Muslims and why I shouldn't confuse the two. 

I thanked my new friend in the purple turban and went into the prayer room. Service was supposed to start at 10:30 am and it was now 10:45. I found a place on the women's side of the floor and sat with my legs crossed. There was only one other person in the room. Confusing. The Guru sang-read the scripture and I watched people enter the room, bow in front of the alter and offer a small amount of cash money. Some came and sat on the sheets for a while and then shortly after left the room. At one point the Guru got up from his chair and started mixing something in a bowl. He then walked around to the four other people in the room and put little balls of soft warm orange dough in their hands. When it was my turn I took the dough and ate like the others had done. I immediately wanted to spit it out. It tasted disgusting - like sweet warm playdoh. Apparently it is a sacred pudding offered at the end of Sikh services. 

But service wasn't over. Service continued. I know this isn't the most exciting thing to read about - sitting, but that's all that happened. I sat. I read over the information my purple friend gave me and stared at the walls. I didn't think about much. I didn't reflect on much. I. Just. Sat. 

During my sitting I learned some interesting things about Sikhs. All Sikhs wear a bracelet to remind them of their connection to God. Sure enough every wrist in the place was bangled. Sikhs do not cut their hair or shave their beards and always carry a comb with them to keep their hair clean. Sikhs are peaceful people who believe in tolerating other religions. Sikhs are instructed to carry swords with them at all times, but not for violence, instead swords are used to fight injustice. I didn't see any swords.

Eventually it was time for music. The Guru sat on the raised platform and played the Vaja - a hand pump organ. The Guru sang. Someone else played drums. More and more people started filing in, bowing at the alter and sitting on the sheets.

Honestly, it wasn't terribly exciting. 

Though, at one point when a woman went to bow down at the alter her pants fell down and she exposed her entire ass. No one acknowledged it but EVERY person in the room saw that woman's hiney.  


My purple friend explained that at 1:00 they stopped for a vegetarian meal and that I was welcome and encouraged to stay. But at NOON I was tired of sitting in silence and my legs were going numb and I was ready to be done. 

I quietly gathered my belongings and left the prayer room that was now full of people. I thanked the man in the purple turban who so graciously showed me around and left the building. The moment I walked out the doors I swear I could hear Queen's iconic "We Are the Champions" playing. I felt like raising my fists to the sky Rocky Balboa style. 


I did it.  


My year of journeying was complete. 

I just sat in the car and smiled. I turned up the radio and rocked out. Holy crap I'm done. 

I did it. 

I don't have to research churches anymore.

Or wake up early on Sunday!

Hooray!!!!


I know this post wasn't terribly exciting. Well, sometimes church isn't very exciting. Sometimes it's boring and sometimes it's offensive and sometimes it's moving and sometimes it's inspiring and sometimes you meet kinds wonderful people and sometimes no one talks to you and sometimes you have brilliant things to write and sometimes all you have are the mundane details of the experience. Yup, that's just how it goes sometimes. But you'll never know until you go.


That doesn't mean I think everyone should embark on a church journey. God no. This isn't for everyone. But I think you should be careful how you judge "church people" without ever attending a service. I think you should be careful how you judge people in general and maybe just don't. Don't judge. Be open to new experiences and new ideas and new people and new religions.


But DO go on a journey. Maybe not a church journey or a pilgrimage to India, but a journey none the less. A journey of any kind. I highly recommend that. Seek and ye shall find all kinds of things.




****There is one more post. A final reflection of my year of church visits. SO, don't unsubscribe just yet. Unless you want to. In which case, thanks for reading along. It's been a thrill to share my journey with you. *****