Take Me To The River

When I say the word "river" what do you think about? Go ahead.  Close your eyes. Take a minute.



For me it's this explosion of songs lyrics and sounds and memories and movie scenes and smells and feelings and peace and longing....

I immediately hear Tina Turner busting out "people on the river are happy to give" followed by the beautiful scene in Big Fish where the Dad makes his final journey to the river. Songs from my childhood flood my head "I've got peace like a river" "The water is wide" "Let's go down to the river to pray". I see Meryl Streep looking smoking hot navigating rapids like a boss in The River Wild immediately followed by the cool glass of water that is Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It. I hear the laughter of my friends followed by the endless popping of beer cans. I feel the little rocks in my river shoes, the sun burning through my sunscreen and coloring my skin and the tingle of the icy cold water as I dip my hand in over the edge of my bright red canoe.

During Shavasana (relaxing time) in yoga I often visualize myself at the river and it immediately calms me. I feel a strong spiritual connection to the river. So it doesn't surprise me that most of the world's major religions regard rivers as sacred spaces. Jesus was baptized in the river. Millions of Hindus make a pilgrimage to the Ganges river in order to be purified of their sin. Zoroastrians are encouraged to refrain from urinating or washing in the sacred waters of rivers. So, this Sunday I made a little pilgrimage of my own to the sacred waters of the Jacks Fork River near Eminence, MO and the healing company of my closest friends.

Every year I travel to the south central town of Winona, MO to gather with some unbelievably awesome people and celebrate the birth of one of my closest friends, Lacey. Winona is as small as it sounds with a population of around 1,330 people. There's a small grocery store, a gas station and Dollar General, the coolest general store you've ever been to in your life called Jack's, The Apple Barrel Inn (where we stayed) and a gem of an eatery called Flossie's (where I sang karaoke Saturday night and had an absolutely marvelous time.) It's a small town with salt of the earth small town people and it's located right near several beautiful Missouri rivers. Lacey's friends gather from various other Missouri towns and spend a few days causing trouble in Winona and then we spend a day floating the river.

This pic is from a few years ago. I didn't bring my iPhone
on the river.

Ahhh, the river.

On Sunday morning I arose to a knock at my hotel door. I stumbled out of bed and let my two hungover friends in without speaking and immediately crawled back into my bed. I'm not going to the river. Ugh. I'm so tired.

Saturday had been a whirlwind adventure of errand running and food prepping and day drinking and excessive eating and playing with kids and tie dying and rock painting and afternoon drinking and karaoke singing and late night drinking and dumpster diving and run-ins with the police and glow stick dance floor dance parties and walking back to the hotel and passing out. So, come Sunday morning none of us were quite certain how we would be able to function on the river.

Wrangling 13 people, kayaks, canoes, coolers, and all the river supplies that go along with a day float ain't no easy task. There's a lot of - "oh wait, i forgot..." "can we stop here?" "who has my..." "do we have enough beer? should we stop and get more beer? perhaps just one more case of beer, just to be safe?"  BUT eventually we made it to the river. It's an exciting moment - putting your fully loaded canoe in the water after spending all morning working to make it happen.

Time stops on the river. There are no schedules to keep. There are very few rules to follow - no glass, no littering and help out when you can. There's no vanity on the river. You can wear your camo or multiple clashing floral patterns and giant sunhat (me) or your tiny bikini or your cutoffs and tank top or whatever the hell you want, because it's the river and don't nobody care what you wear on the river. You just sit back, relax, drink a beer (or 12) and take in the the beauty that surrounds you.

This is my kind of church - friends. booze. nature. peace.

They say the river is a metaphor for life (I don't know who "they" are, writers and stuff, just go with it). I would have to agree. You could probably substitute the word "life" for every time I mention "the river" and it would sound spot on accurate. The river (life) is certainly a breathtaking journey but it ain't always easy...

This is also old. Last year. Me being SO over pictures.
And my friends loving every minute.

There were lots of obstacles during our river journey this year. Some were caused by the natural way of the river, but others were a result of our own humanness (tired, inexperienced and intoxicated). Though deemed safe for floating, the Jacks Fork waters were fairly low causing us to get stuck on gravel beds multiple times. This meant either digging yourself out with your paddle, getting out and pulling your vessel, or praying someone else would come along and give you a push. Yup. Sounds like life to me.

Other times were a bit scarier. The river isn't to be taken lightly. It can be shallow and still at one point and then fast and dangerous just around the bend. Storms had knocked some trees into the waters making our adventure even more exciting. Trying to navigate around some tight spots resulted in several of my group's canoes tipping over. It's terrifying to watch your friends topple over into the water, knowing there is nothing you can do in that moment. They are going over. All you can do now is help them pick up the pieces. (Are you getting all these life references?)

It's in these moments that people bond closer together. It's one of the many magical things about the river. After the canoe is drained and all the stuff returned safely inside, we would sit on the gravel bank, share a drink and a smoke and those who experienced the danger would retell their story and share their feelings while the rest of us listened with a supportive ear.

I got to try out kayaking for the first time this year. It was exciting. I like being in full control, so a kayak is just perfect for me. I tooled off on my own and enjoyed the silence of solitude. Since this was my church service I tried to find some connection with God, but all I could do was take in the bright greens of the tree leaves and the fluffy white puff of the clouds mixed against the blue sky. Then I realized, Wait. It's all God. The river. The birds. The snakes. The trees. The clouds. This beer. My kayak. Me. My friends. Everything. I'm so glad I learned about this whole "Everything is connected. Everything comes from God" thing. It makes finding a connection to God really easy. Then I sipped on my beer and floated slowly along in silence, enjoying my time with God.

I enjoyed the kayak and the solitude for a while, but then I was ready to get back in a canoe with my dear friend Hannah. There's something to be said about who you float down the river with. These are the people who are going to dive into the icy cold water and save you when things get too rough. These are the people you are going to share a single fork with as you hover over a tub of chocolate mousse cake. These are the people who aren't going to judge your fashion choices or shudder at the sight of your pale skin. These are the people who are going to encourage you and support you when you think you are simply too drunk/tired to carry on and have decided to live on a gravel bar forever. You should choose your floating family wisely. Luckily, I was floating down the river with a group of truly exceptional human beings.

 

Exhausted and sore, we reached our destination. Our time on the river was over and we were all kind of relieved. We sat on the bank drinking a victory beer and enjoying what was left of the chocolate mousse cake.

Various photos from river trips in years past. (I'll add this years photos
when someone who took a camera posts them online.)

Sitting on the bank I had one final reflection.  Lately, I've been questioning life, for a variety of reasons. I'm not suicidal, it's not about that. No need to hospitalize me. This is just garden variety "what does it all mean?" stuff. I've been thinking that life is kind of awful and that I hope when it ends it ends for good and we don't have to spend all eternity praising God in Heaven or being reincarnated into yet another body and having to do it all over again. I've been thinking it would be really really wonderful if there was a stopping point and we were just dead. Worm food. Gone. Forever.

But sitting on the bank, I had another thought. The river is a metaphor for life and I keep coming back to the river. Every year. No matter how hard things were or how bad my sunburn was or how many bruises I sustained or how frustrated I got - I keep coming back. Not only that, I look forward to coming back. I get excited. I can't sleep for days. I spend hours thinking about what I want to take with me and what I'll do and all the exciting adventures I'll have.

 

So, life is a hard labor intensive wonderously magical journey, and given the choice, I'll keep coming back for more. I'll just need a year or so to recuperate in between excursions.

 

 

I'll leave you with a Pooh Bear quote that I greatly enjoy...

 

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.



Rural Religion

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Sarah Goes To A Wedding

Out of respect for my family I have removed today's post. I offer my deepest apologies for anyone I have offended.

Church Post Postponed Due To Rambling Sleep Deprived Child

That feels better...stretching my head.
That feels better now that I'm sitting down.
That feels better when I see your graham crackers.
I want cheese.
When I touch your computer buttons that means I want cheese.
Now I'm standing up.
Now I'm up.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
(child pretends to pick apples off imaginary trees)
Ooo...a red apple.
Look at all the tiny apples.
(repeats the words "tiny apples" over and over and over)
No. Not that song. That song is not a good song.
(The theme from Titanic"My Heart Will Go On" as covered by Kenny G has come up on my "Go The Fuck To Sleep" playlist.)
Tomorrow I'm going to steal your office!!!!
I'm going to blow you up tomorrow!
(rolling on the floor singing "ooooooo")
You are so mean today!
Tomorrow I'm going to let you be nice.
My eyes are watering because of you!
(rambles for 15 minutes)
I hate you.
Wow. You got new tattoos.



AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Children. Precious gifts from God they are. Just. Precious.

I can't really blame the poor thing. When I get sleepy I get super mean and say all kinds of crazy stuff too. I'm just sitting here saying nothing by the way. I'm sleep deprived myself at the moment. Though I tried a few calming interventions - back rubbing, foot massage, head scratching, deep pressure - eventually I just gave up, remained present, listened to his rambles and tried to contain my giggles.


So...
There will be no blog today. I can't think under these circumstances.
Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps Wednesday.
If I make it to Wednesday.
Who needs a drink?

I guarantee 20 seconds into Kenny G you will.












See you when I see you.

Oops, I'm Supposed To Be At Church

This week. Wowzers. Woah. Whew. Holy cow. Sweet tacos. Man oh man.

Here is some word vomit about my incredibly weird week up until Saturday night. It's okay if you don't understand, because I don't understand either. But I can't talk about church without first setting the stage...

Hungover. Sexually abused child. Kitty Pryde. Run in with estranged former lover. Hip-Hop. Punched in the face. Suddenly I'm drinking beer now. Zumba. Painting in the sunshine. Headbutt to the chest. Cat bite. Wine time. Random neighborhood block party. Amish artist. Tincture? Taylor Swift. Ladybug. Hips. Love of my life. So much screaming. Death threats. Kid in psych ward. Dammit. Skype date. Sex tape? Never again. Heartbroken. Crying. Guess that's over. Glass case of emotion called a bottle of tequila. Friendship. Cigarettes. Pancakes. Dance party. Infinite sadness. Forced snuggling. My Little Pony. I hear violins. Zumba. I just want to dance until everything is normal again. Cinco de Mayo. Fishbowl Margaritas. Street tacos. Tongue? Cotton candy! Mmm, churros. Native American flutes. Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Limitless. Caesar salad. Mmm, more tequila. Drink all night! What? Uh Oh. Crap! Hurry! Conservative tights.



Woo doggy. What a week!

For several months I had been hoping to attend an Orthodox Easter service. So, I marked Sunday May 5th on the calendar in my head as the day I would visit St. Nicholas's Greek Orthodox Church. Since I missed my chance at a decent Protestant Easter service I figured Orthodox Easter was my only hope for a make-up. So naturally I spent weeks researching and preparing for the experience. Ha! Nah, I didn't research it at all. I figured I'd just show up Sunday morning and that would be that.

It was 9:38 pm and I was sitting and having a glass of tequila with my dear friend and partner in crime Rebecca.  I should look up what time church is in the morning before we drink anymore. A puzzled expression formed on my face as I read the info on my tiny iPhone screen. Huh? Well...this says...hmmm...it doesn't give a Sunday time. It says their Easter service is....oh crap it's TONIGHT! It starts at 11:00! Uh...you wanna go to church tonight?

Yes, tis true. Orthodox Easter is actually celebrated late Saturday night with a candlelight service praising the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Sunday is actually a day of feasting and merriment with a very short simple worship service. Though I love a good feast and short services, it was the candlelight service I was most interested in. Late night church! Woo!

Rebecca did not want to spend her Saturday night at church. So, I put down my glass of tequila and threw on my most conservative looking outfit that didn't show any cleavage and covered my knees. I dropped off Rebecca at her house and headed out on my church experience. I no longer get nervous about attending church - thanks Scientology - but I was nervous about walking all alone in the Central West End at night. So me and my conservative tights and calf length black dress took a 4 block jog in the darkness.

When I arrived at church people were standing in line talking and getting their Easter supplies. Like a ninja I grabbed a giant candle and quietly followed a group of people into the gymnasium where the service was being held. I found a seat on the aisle, because the idea of being trapped in the middle of a row makes me physically nauseous. This is why I always choose the aisle seat on airplanes and at theatres, because I don't like feeling trapped. I need complete freedom at all times!

It was really dark, but you can kind of make out the booklet

I was 5 minutes early, but the service had already started. A man was speaking over the loud speaker and a woman was singing - in Greek. I felt confused and never stopped feeling confused. On my seat was a booklet of the Easter Service. The booklet had the soft feel of paper worn from years of use - kinda like vintage Time magazines you find at Flea markets only softer. I opened the booklet, which contained both the Greek and English versions of the service, although almost all of the service was spoken in Greek. I turned through the pages trying to figure out where we were but got distracted by the sheer volume of the book. Sixty pages? Holy crap! How long does this thing last?!?

 I would never learn the answer...

The gym was fragrant from the hundreds of flowers and plants arranged at the front of the room. There were multiple giant wreaths that nearly reached the ceiling. Portraits of Jesus were on easels on the stage along with various rows of candles. I watched as a priest in a beautiful robin's egg blue robe with yellow embroidery silently lit each of the candles in a very deliberate order.

Do you enjoy standing? For long periods of time? Late at night? In the dark? While someone is sing-speaking words you don't understand? Then the Greek Orthodox Easter service is right up your alley. They stand up pretty much the whole time. Why, you ask? Well, because one should stand up for Jesus of course. Which, though I'm not a Jesusy person, I kind of agree with. This is supposedly the savior of all mankind we are celebrating. The least you could do is stand up and refrain from yawning.

Slowly, the room started to fill up with people dressed in their Easter finest. Most men were in suits and ties. I saw a lot of women in sparkly pant suits. There was also another group of women draped in white flowy gauze with shawls round their shoulders and heads. At 11:15 the room was half full. By 11:30 only a few seats were left in the large gym. Then at 11:45 it was standing room only. I was slightly irritated - Have some respect people. Are you seriously showing up 45 minutes late to Jesus's resurrection celebration. This is kind of a big deal, isn't it? Get here on time! But apparently, this is  fairly normal and perfectly acceptable.

Suddenly, the sing-speaking stopped and ALL the lights in the room were turned off. Then from behind the red curtain came a single light. Carefully, the priest walked out of the curtain and other priests (or priests in training) lit their candles off the one light. Slowly the light grew through the giant audience until the room was illuminated. This is what I wanted to experience  - the power of darkness changing into light from one single flame. It was powerful and magical.

But one single flame didn't actually banish the darkness. It started the lighting. Sharing the light is what banished the darkness. The start was important, absolutely, but sharing, sharing changed everything and illuminated what was once unable to be seen. The light you carry can change the world, but only if you share it. Sure, it can help you navigate the dark hallways of your house. BUT if you share it, it can help everyone navigate the darkness of the world. Woo. Powerful. It's starts with one single flame from which we are all connected. There is no light that doesn't come from the ONE. No light burns brighter than another. No light is more special than another.

It's now after Midnight and I was told that at Midnight we would yell out "Christos Anesti" and hug and kiss each other and flood the streets with our newly lit candles. Well, I was told wrong. Because apparently, an hour into the service, it had only just begun. No wonder the candles are giant - they have to last 3 hours.

The sing-speaking started up again and we went through a series of standing, crossing ourselves repeatedly, saying things in Greek and then sitting briefly before starting it all over again. There were a few call and response things, but most of the speak-singing was done by a choir or the priests. Around 12:40 I finally found where we were in the service - page 35 of 60. We still had Communion and several more call and response things along with many many prayers to get through. I desperately needed to use the bathroom and I had no idea how I would navigate the whole candle thing and use a toilet at the same time. Plus, honestly, the idea of kissing and hugging strangers was making me very anxious. I'm not really a "hugger". So, my need to pee combined with my lack of desire to kiss strangers resulted in me leaving the service early.

Lots of people were leaving early. It was nearly 1 am. You are supposed to keep your candle lit and carry it home with you in order to light your house. I wasn't sure how I could drive all the way home with a lit candle so I blew it out. Sorry Jesus. Safety first. Then I stuffed all my valuables in my bra for fear of being mugged and hightailed it back to my car.

This week nearly did me in.  Church revived me. Well, church and tequila and friendship and how awesome St. Louis is and churros probably didn't hurt either. Still, every week God reveals something to me and I'm always shocked and surprised like, Hey! I didn't know you were still paying attention. The amount of shitty things happening seemed to indicate that you were off on vacation. But nope. God's light still shines, even when I can't see it.

I got to sleep in Sunday morning. Woo! Shortly after waking I got a text photo of the beautiful new little girl, Madrid Rose, who has just begun her journey on this Earth. I burst into tears. (New babies make me cry, but especially babies from close friends I've known since 1st grade.) I started thinking about my week and I took a deep breath and I decided that everything was going to be okay. (I have these moments a lot. There may or may not be a slightly ridiculous amount of completely self-inflicted drama in my life.) Then God confirmed it via George Michael.

Because first George Michael wrote this:

 

 

 

And then George Michael wrote this:

 

 

 

Yes. God speaks to me through song sometimes. I'm just special like that.

 

Anyway.

 

May your week be filled with light and love readers.

 

Namaste

(the light in me bows to the light in you) ♥ 

 

 

 

 

 



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!