I have a vivid memory of my hungover mother's voice demanding I get up and get ready for church. The Catholic Church frowns on denim and leaves the wearing of such heathen garb to inmates and atheists. That day Mom forced us to dress in our Sunday best. But it doesn't matter how nice the ribbon looks on a bowl of rotten fruit, it still stinks. Mom spent the entire hour of church refereeing our abominable behavior. She had to separate Kev and I, putting me near Jess, which wasn't any better. With no one to pester, Kev fell asleep, prompting mom to nudge him like a NHL player nudges an opponent.
During communion, just as she thought we settled down, I'd leaned over and asked, "Hey Mom, am I supposed to chew the cookie?"
To which she yelled, "It's not a god damn cookie."
After taking the Lord's name in vain, she ushered us out, screaming at us the whole ride home. We spent the remainder of Sunday morning in lock down. Kev escaped out his window, Jess nodded off, and I snuck down to watch the faithful sin box.
No institution has garnered more bad press recently than the Catholic Church. The child abuse scandal of the last decade has publicized the secrecy and deception within the Church, tools the Catholic theocracy uses to conceal its shameful behavior. Though the child abuse is responsible for enormous damage, the decline of the Church began long before this outrage. The true failing of the Church lies in its refusal, or perhaps even inability, to evolve. Like all living, breathing entities, it must adapt or die. Some changes call for major revisions of doctrine. Maybe priests should be allowed to marry, or women should be allowed entry to the priesthood, or gays, well, maybe gays should be allowed something, anything at all. Even barring these major changes, the Church has not evolved in small ways--like a meaningful service or sermon, Sunday school for children, music that evokes emotion, liveliness, spirit... Consequently, followers of this rigid faith are finding comfort, love, joy, community, and God in other places.
So, the stage was ripe for churches like The Vineyard to sprout with a new attitude, call it "no pressure sales." Rachel and I went to The Vineyard this morning for Sunday service. We were greeted at the door with smiles, no wait, with ear to ear grins. A friendly man interrupted us as we looked in awe at a sign that read, "Food and Drink Welcome. Lids are Appreciated." Wait, coffee in church? In fact, free coffee and bagels were served in the cafe in the next room. Wait, a cafe in the next room? Friendly, welcoming people, too?
There was no ornate altar, just an unassuming stage with instruments. We were guided to padded, comfortable chairs. There were no petrified pews, no stuffy old fart priests, standing high above us in a pulpit condemning us unless we contributed 15% of our gross, not net, to the church.
Rachel and I sipped our delicious (french press) coffee while listening to the pastor, who sat gingerly behind an electric piano, asking us to open our hearts, and join him in praising the Lord. He burst into song, accompanied by guitar, bass, and soaring voices. It might have been the most exhilarating experience I've ever encountered. Until the sermon...
Pastor Dave spoke of our expectations of love, how we assume love to be romantic, that love is more than that, and that in a nutshell, God loves us. Granted, he was funny, completely unlike any sermon I'd ever heard, but it smacked of the same old, repackaged homily.
Yet the parishioners and Pastor Dave exude peace. It's hard to picture them depressed, and if they ever are, they turn to God. Later this afternoon, riding bikes down Memorial Drive, I felt Him. He may not have been there at that moment, but He's been there.
God has to be the largest real estate owner in the universe. He has a house in every town, every city, in multiple zip codes, often on the same street, so we'll continue our search for Him. We're just not sure which house He's staying in at the moment, but we're hopeful just the same.
1 comment:
In my family, we would sit in one pew -- all 10 of us. Inevitably one of the kids would misbehave or torture another until he was brought outside. Retutrned to the church sniffling, the rest of us would have perfect posture. People would complement my parents "what a wonderful family" "so well behaved" meanwhile one of us had set the example, got a "lickin" outside and the rest of us fell in -- one two three four, one two three four. Funny when I think about it but very bizarre when you delve in. :)
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